Run
by lespetitesmorts
Summary: A continuation of my Rizzles Ficlets 67 & 68. Based on the au gifsets by lanaparrilla. co .vu/tagged/au* Jane confesses to Maura and then she runs away. And yes, when I say Rizzles eventually, I mean Jane/Maura Rizzles eventually. It will take time. Please be patient. It's rated angst for a reason.
1. Tick Tock

How much longer can you survive?

You never thought it would last this long. You honestly never thought Maura would say yes.

But you were wrong.

When they came to Sunday dinner, Maura flaunting her engagement ring, it was like the whole world stopped. Your whole world stopped. Ma rushed over to gush with her, Frankie congratulated them, Korsak and Frost wished them the best. And you? You stopped. You came so close to passing out, part of you had wished you had. Because then she would've rushed over to you, cared for you, and you could've pretended she loved you, even if only for a moment.

When you went home that Sunday night, you cried for hours. You drank a week's worth of alcohol in one go. You craved a cigarette more than you ever had in the twelve years since you quit. You wanted to go for a drive, you wanted an easy lay, you wanted anything that would help you self-destruct.

Instead you show up early Monday morning on zero sleep, still mildly intoxicated, downing coffee like there'll be a global shortage. You shudder at your desk at the thought of how they spent the night. Celebrating most likely, physically if you know Maura. And you know Maura. You know her better than you know Korsak, than you know Frost, your family. Better than you know yourself.

As long as you don't see them together, it's bearable. You can breathe when it's just one of them. If it's just Maura over a dead body you can pretend that she isn't engaged to your brother. When it's running into Tommy at the grocery store, you can pretend the knife in your heart isn't there.

Sunday dinners are the worst. Two more after the engagement announcement and you know it can't go on. So you request to be on call on Sundays, knowing that Cavanaugh talks to Ma and that if you requested to be on duty on Sunday evening purposefully, she'd kill you.

You'd briefly considered it.

So thank God, more often than not, you don't have to go. When dispatch calls you and offers you the choice to go to a cut and dry suicide to sign off with the ME assigned, you agree. Now they call you first in rotation for the pleasure.

It's honest to God boring, but it's better than being cooped up in Maura's house, watching the happy couple and the happy family that surrounds them. You love both of them, you do, but you still can't. You just can't.

You stay late to work on paperwork instead of hanging out with Maura. Not all the time, that would arouse suspicion. But often enough that she offers less now, scheduling more time with Tommy instead, as it goes.

If Frost or Korsak notice, they don't let on. They're swamped too. Always a backlog to work on, so you're never really not busy anymore. Cavanaugh notices the extra work, extra effort you're putting in. He never says anything outright, but you can feel the pride as much as you hear the question in his voice when he addresses you.

BPD doesn't have an employee of the year award, but he tells you he's put your name in for an achievement award. It comes with a cash bonus. You smile and thank him and wonder if it's in poor taste to have it sent straight to your favourite brewery.

You haven't used alcohol as a crutch, but you haven't abstained completely either. Alcohol loosens tongues and could end in a dangerously truthful confrontation given your family's penchant for barging in when the desire strikes.

They haven't done that in a while. But you figure it only means you're due.

You're not mad at them. You could've stopped it. Both of them came to you and basically asked permission. You told Tommy to make her happy, and he'd promised he would. He was her choice, so there wasn't anything more to be done. And you didn't have a reason to say no. So you'd said yes. You just didn't think it would last.

Instead, the guilt, the frustration, the anguish is all yours and yours alone. Fuck.

For the who-knows-how-many night in a row, you punch your pillow until you're spent. Then you drag a sweater of hers from under your mattress, and cuddle it while you beg for sleep.

Days go on and on like this.

While you survive, your brother and Maura have picked a date and started making the arrangements for their wedding. The last time you'd spent some alone time with Maura, she'd prattled on about flowers and their different connotations almost the entire time.

With every option she'd explained, your heart grew heavier in your chest until you thought it might drop onto the hardwood of her kitchen. You left before Tommy could make it back.

In the car on the way home, you'd wept bitterly. How fine an actor you must be if no one could tell how dead you feel inside, if not even Maura could see that you were wasting away.

Two months before the wedding you get the call. The FBI want you to join a specialized unit in serial killers. It pays well, but you'll need to move to Washington, to HQ. It might kill you, leaving your family, leaving Maura, leaving your partners and the only place you've called home your whole life.

But staying will kill you, no questions asked. You call them back after a couple of days to accept. They tell you they'll handle everything, you just need to pack your bags in time for orientation in three weeks.

You don't tell anyone. You use a couple vacation days to find an apartment in DC, Cavanaugh doesn't say a word other than you deserve a couple days. You tell everyone else you want to go see the monuments at the last Sunday dinner you hope to endure. Maura looks sad at the thought and you can't help but remember happier times for you and her.

 _"I'd like to see the world. Go sightseeing, experience all there is to experience," you'd said one day in her office, playing gently with the globe she keeps there._

 _She'd smiled widely. "We could start local, in the U.S.," she'd said, no question about the two of you going together. "Hoover Dam, DC, Mount Rushmore."_

 _You'd grinned back. "I'd love that. You could be my tour guide."_

Happier, easier times. You don't really care about where you move to, but the realtor who shows you around finds you a pretty decent place a few blocks from HQ, fully furnished. You sign the lease with a hole in your chest. It'll work. There's a coffee shop on the ground floor, for the benefit of everyone around you.

You pack a few things you want to bring with you, but you're not intent on much. Some clothes, a few knickknacks that have accumulated from your time with Maura and the BPD. A short stack of photos. It amounts to a couple of duffels. One box full of kitchen stuff. And that's it. Your existence consists of those three things. It makes you feel small.

When you go into work on your final day, you stop and chat briefly with Cavanaugh. Your new bosses said the paperwork went through, but apparently Cavanaugh wasn't in the loop. He didn't take it well. You apologized, but you weren't really that sorry. You didn't think he'd be aware. That's how the FBI works, a fact you'd always hated. But it had worked to your advantage, because you could slip away tonight and no one would be the wiser.

You could feel Cavanaugh watching you as you went back to your desk and interacted with the boys just as you always had before. And when the day was done, you tucked a few of the trinkets you'd kept around your desk in your pocket before heading home.

You did a final sweep of your apartment. You've barely eaten, barely slept, hell you've barely been able to breathe lately. But you decide that you should attempt to eat something before your new job in the morning. Your flight's the redeye because you don't sleep much anyway. So you ordered takeout for your final evening in Boston. You sat on your floor, a beer in hand and waited, trying not to think about the reasons you were leaving.

You can't escape them though. Can't escape the knowledge that Maura will become a Rizzoli, but without you. You curse Fate lightly for having a shitty sense of humour. You'd always wanted her to be a Rizzoli. Always wanted her to bear your last name with pride.

But you'd always imagined it with you, not Tommy.

When the knocks sound on your door, you need a minute to gather yourself before answering. But instead of a lanky, pimply teenager with pizza, there is one sincerely pissed off Maura Isles on your doorstep.


	2. Boom

Shit. The first thing that crosses your mind is the urge to close the door and pretend this isn't happening. But that face, those eyes, those pleading eyes take advantage of the weakness in your knees and she storms right past you into the apartment.

Her gaze lingers on the bags and the box by your doorway. "I told Cavanaugh he must be mistaken, that there's no way Jane Rizzoli would leave Boston without telling her family." She pauses and turns her gaze straight to your eyes. "She wouldn't leave without telling me."

She closes her eyes and she looks like she might break. You swallow hard and crush down on the desire to comfort her. That's not your place.

"Tell me he's wrong," she demands, commanding your attention again. But you can't. You just stare back unflinchingly, unapologetically. The resolve in your appearance seems to force her to sob.

"You weren't going to tell me you're leaving?"

You stick your hands in your pockets and your teeth clench.

"We're best friends, Jane." But you wonder if that's really true anymore. You barely see each other, and even though you've tried, you haven't been there for her. Tommy's there for her now. You watch as she gets more upset and channels that into anger.

"How would you react if I tried to leave you and never look back?" Oh, doesn't she understand? She already had. She's already left you alone. This is you trying to break surface because if you stay here you will drown. This… this is the aftermath.

"I deserve more than that." You can't argue with that statement. It's part of why you're leaving. She deserved what she wanted. More than you. Tommy. And now you're letting her have it.

"Damn it, Jane, say something!" Her eyes flash with fury and impatience. It's the first time you've heard her swear.

You're leaving tonight. Nothing will stop you. You don't plan on seeing her anytime soon. So you tell her the truth, even as it kills you over again to say the words. You stare at the wall beside her because you can't look her in the eyes with this confession.

"Maur-" but you cut yourself off. "Maura," you continue, "I – I've been in love with you. Forever, it feels like. But you wanted Tommy and Tommy wanted you and I just wanted you to be happy. He told, no he promised me that he would make you happy."

You take a shuddering breath and chance a glance at her. She looks shell-shocked, completely taken aback and it makes you feel more confident in your decision. If she had never known, had never had an inkling of your feelings, then she really did want Tommy. It steeled your resolve.

You could leave it there, but you know her. Know she needs more than just this. She doesn't have all the facts yet, so she won't be happy yet.

"I just – I can't live like this anymore. I can't sleep, I barely eat, I can hardly breathe anymore, knowing that I'm not the one putting that adorable dimple on your face, knowing that my brother and not me is the cause for your happiness. I just can't."

She looks like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out when her mouth opens. So you keep going. For her, but for you as well. Maybe you'll be able to sleep once the truth comes out. Maybe if one person who stays here knows the reasons for your leaving, maybe they'll forgive you at some point. Maybe.

"I thought that seeing you happy and knowing you were happy would be enough. I thought I could live with that, in time maybe it would be enough and I could move on. But it's not. I'm not the kind of daughter my mother always wanted. I'm not the sister that Frankie has looked up to all his life – not anymore. And as much as I want to be, I'm not the Jane that can look past her feelings and give Tommy her blessing."

You sigh and it sounds ancient, like this weight has followed you since the dawn of time. You wonder what's going through her mind at all of these revelations you're giving her, but she looks too shocked to say anything, looks like she's not even listening. Like she just stopped. Like you did so many months ago.

"I'm not your best friend, Maura," you say and she almost chokes. "If I was, I could do this. But I'm not. I'm the woman skipping town because I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you, Doctor Isles. But you are happy and it's not because of me and it's killing me. Can you see that in a way I'm doing this for you, too?"

You shake your head as the doctor reaches for your kitchen island for balance.

"You have the family and all the love that you so deserve. But you don't need me acting as an anchor, holding you back."

The doctor's crying has escalated and it makes you feel sorry for causing her this pain as much as it vindicates you for loving someone so easy to love, so worthy of love.

"You can hate me for not being strong enough to watch you marry my brother. It's okay. I understand. Just remember that you don't need me anymore. You've never needed me."

You let out a shaky breath.

"But I need to figure out how not to need you. I just need to forget you. Or at least forget that I love you. If I can forget that, then one day I can be genuinely happy for the both of you. But today I can't. And I will never be able to so long as you are one phone call, five floors, or ten minutes' drive away."

You sniffle, but refuse to cry. You've already made your decision.

The pizza guy appears in the doorway. You look at him then back at Maura. "I'll get the pizza from you downstairs," you tell him and something he must see in your face makes him know better than to question anything. He leaves.

You walk to the door and sling your bags on your shoulders. You pick up the heavy box. And then you look back at her, at her beautiful, broken form that you caused.

"Goodbye, Maura." And you leave. It is not your responsibility nor your prerogative to pick up the pieces you've left behind. She has a fiancé and a huge, loving family who will make up for whatever hole you leave behind.

You pay the pizza guy and hail a cab. You give the pizza to a homeless guy outside of Logan because you can't even think of eating anything. You check your luggage, breeze through security, and board your flight.

The plane takes off. But you're asleep. You wake up when you land two hours later, amazed. You take it as a sign that you've made the right decision. So when you stumble into your new apartment at 2:30am, you set the alarm on your phone and fall onto the bed.

You sleep and you dream. Mostly of her. Her with you and not Tommy. Your heart grows heavier in your chest.

It will take far longer than you'd thought to forget her, you realize suddenly. But it's a dream and the thought drifts away as soon as it arrives.

Finally. You sleep.


	3. Flip

You write her letter after letter. You've been writing her letters ever since she left. When she left you in her apartment after taking everything you thought you'd known about the two of you and setting it aflame.

Her confession left you speechless, breathless. Her full speech made you sad and miserable. It was only after she'd left that you'd been able to move from your spot in the middle of her floor. But all you did was trek back downstairs to your car, zombie-like, and getting in without going anywhere.

You wept with complete abandon.

You think back to that afternoon, when Cavanaugh asked you into his office for "a word."

 _"Is there something about my work?" you asked, brows knitting in consternation._

 _He blinked like you'd sprouted an antenna. "No, Dr. Isles, it's about Jane-"_

 _"Is she hurt?" You demanded loudly, panic already manifesting in your chest._

 _"No!" Cavanaugh assured you quickly. "No. I was just trying to understand…" he trailed off like he couldn't find the words. "I was just wondering why she's doing it, you know? I thought you might know, being her best friend and all."_

 _He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was stare back, puzzled. "What's happened?"_

 _He whistled then, and fiddled with the collar of his shirt. "You don't know?"_

 _"Know what?" you asked forcefully. You already know you won't like the answer when it comes._

 _"She's leaving. Today's her last day."_

 _You felt like the world came to a screeching halt without telling your body, and you stumbled over nothing. Cavanaugh darted over to help guide you to a chair, but all you could say was "Why?"_

 _He shook his head, commiserating. "I wish I knew, Doc."_

You wondered if you were the only one who didn't know, but you shake your head at your idiocy almost immediately. No one knew. Because Angela was still her wonderful, matriarchal self, and Tommy hadn't mentioned it at all. Frankie seemed as chipper as ever, and you couldn't possibly conceive of them being okay with her leaving.

So why was she going? And why didn't she tell you?

That's when you were going to go straight to her house, but a morgue emergency forced you to stay an extra couple of hours.

You went to her place right after that, but, well, you know how that went.

So now you write her letters, emails, passive aggressive notes. You had tried calling and texting but she must have dropped her Boston number for a new one. The FBI, Cavanaugh had said when you'd asked him the next day. Washington, D.C. probably, but you don't guess and you can't be sure.

When you got home that evening after your confrontation with Jane, Tommy did his best to make you feel better. But after you choked out the reason for your despair, he'd called the rest of the family in a blurry haze. Before you knew it, all the Rizzolis had converged in your living room and were loudly demanding answers that no one could supply.

The world felt emptier without her presence, her subtle smirk and quick snark no longer a dependable mode of measuring a roomful of emotions. You felt empty and worse still when you thought about her parting words.

 _"I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you."_

 _"You don't need me anymore. You've never needed me."_

 _"I just need to forget you."_

You were useless for several weeks after that. You took a leave of absence the next day, spending almost every waking moment cooped up in your house with Bass because he's always been there for you. You shut Tommy and most of the Rizzoli clan out through necessity. It was so hard to look at them, be with them, and not long for Jane.

You wonder when it happened. When did you stop needing her every single day? When did your daily dose of Jane become negligible?

The answer comes to you in the middle of the night. Tommy replaced Jane in so many ways you hadn't even realized before, because you'd never focused on them.

You and Tommy watched ESPN late at night. You and Tommy started checking movies off your list. You started stocking his beer and not Jane's. You went to new restaurants with him, took him to the Sox, did all these little things that you only used to do with Jane – and they added up to all your time.

Besides that night, outside of working hours, you can't really remember the last time you two spent any decent amount of time together. She'd come over every so often for Sunday dinner or to watch a game or documentary, but now that you thought about it, those visits were few and far between, and not to mention a couple of hours at a time at most.

You spend the first few weeks after she's gone in a depressed state, laden with guilt for not noticing and not being her best friend.

Even though now you know she wanted more. There was a time, once, when you'd thought the two of you might be something more. But anytime the opportunity would arise to take that extra step, she'd shy away and you took it as a sign. And then Tommy was there and he was trying to be a better person and you couldn't help but see the good in him. The good that's in Frankie and in Jane. That Rizzoli goodness you'd fallen for.

She's gone.

You thought about looking for her. For days, you were on the constant edge of your seat, fingering your keys and eyeing your shoes by the front door. And then you'd think back and remember that she doesn't want to be followed. She doesn't want anyone, and especially not you to follow her.

 _"I need to figure out how not to need you… and I will never be able to so long as you are one phone call, five floors, or ten minutes' drive away._ "

You always stop. You always talk yourself out of it because it's what she wants. She wanted so much more from you, but you didn't (couldn't?) give it to her. This is the least you can do. She deserves so much more, but this is what you can give her.

Even if you wanted to, you can't be with her now.

You went back to work last week. It seems hollower now. Frost and Korsak are still willing and capable detectives, but they seem less themselves.

You ran into the bathroom your first day back because seeing them made you think of everyone she left behind. Everyone she hurt in order to get away from you. Everyone she left behind, her family, her friends, the people who have known her the longest and the best – she traded all of that to get away from you.

And deep down maybe you know that everyone else will forgive her. They may not understand but they will forgive her. It makes you wonder if she'll ever forgive you. If they'll ever forgive you.

Guilt and loneliness are your constant companions. Tommy, too, but the two of you will never be the same. Because if what Jane said is true – and she had no reason to lie – then Tommy knows exactly why she left too. He knows that you made her go.

It's possible he feels the same kind of guilt about the situation as you do, but you haven't deigned to ask him. Your relationship with him is now perfunctory and that alone. If you still have one. You're going to see him for the first time tonight, one week after being back in your job. Four weeks after Jane leaving. You don't know what he's going to do, or where the two of you are headed.

But for the 29th day in a row, you find yourself hoping and praying that Jane will come back, knock on your door with an apologetic smile, and you two can start over again.

Even though you can't. She'll never want anything to do with you ever again, if she ever returns. You're sure of that now.


	4. Home

You stay away for 15 months. You miss Christmas, birthdays, and every other holiday. You send cards and small gifts in the mail, but you don't leave a return address. You tried to bring yourself to send a card for the wedding but you couldn't. It was the only celebration you didn't try for. It crushes your soul, and you spend a good amount of your alone time on these celebratory days baptizing your couch with tears because you're such a shitty person to desert everyone you love.

Sometimes, when that happens, you speculate about what would happen if you go home. But you shake the thought almost as quickly as it comes because Washington is your home now. Boston is the watery grave you'll drown in if you go back. So you calm the trembling in your limbs, the fight-or-flight instinct that wants you to get on a plane back home.

You do your best to stay aloof from Boston, to leave that life behind you. You avoid news of BPD as much as possible, aside from sending Frankie a congratulations card for getting your homicide spot.

He's a good kid. You're sorry you had to leave him, but you were right when you told Maura that you weren't the Jane you'd hoped to be. You weren't an older sister for Frankie to look up to. Running certainly didn't help that.

But you had to go. Staying would have killed you. Maybe in time, with enough explanations and penitence they will someday forgive you, your family. Maybe they'll be able to accept that you needed to help yourself before you could help them – or else you'd end up losing yourself and being useless all around.

You won't hold your breath.

Your partner and boss are talking in hushed tones in the break room while you perch on your desk waiting for a new assignment. You'd been all over the US already; San Francisco, Omaha, Des Moines, down to Jackson, up to Baltimore. Heck, the Bureau had given you a whole evening in Baltimore, and it was a lucky enough occasion that the Red Sox were playing the Orioles. So you went, and Dean tagged along because you're partners and there's not much else to do during downtime. He'd had his turn taking in hour-long allotments of tourism; he didn't need to do it on his own anymore. If he didn't nap he'd follow you on your excursions.

You hope you never stop getting out and experiencing the city you're in. Even if you're there to catch a serial killer, you only get to explore once the perp's in custody. You can rest easy and take in some sights. Sleeping is for planes and the small apartment you call home in D.C.

It's not the kind of sightseeing you'd had in mind back when you lived in Boston, but at the end of a case, there's always a few hours before your plane to take in some tourist scenery. Unlike the big boys at BAU, you and Dean have to fly commercial.

Gabriel glances over at you with his calculating gaze, then nods at the boss lady and takes the proffered folder. You tap your foot with impatience, wanting to get going immediately, and hop onto your feet as he approaches.

"What'd Farrell-" you start to ask but Dean cuts you off with a head shake, gesturing you to an interview room instead. The two of you bypass your desks and the unusual procedure makes you instantly defensive and cautious.

He motions for you to sit at the interview table and you can't help feeling nervous. You feel like a perp, despite having done nothing wrong. Well, nothing illegal anyway. Some might argue that leaving Boston was wrong, though it was the right thing for you. He tosses the folder on the table in front of you and a photo of Tommy slides out. You pick it up, dread filling you you're your toes. Because it doesn't take a genius to know what the fuck it means if the FBI is watching your brother.

"Open it," Dean instructs, albeit gently. He knows only that your Boston life is a sore spot. You don't discuss personal lives, an unwritten code that suits you just fine. But you have a lump in your gut that says your personal life is going to be cracked right open for everyone to see.

You wonder briefly if you'll lose the sense of self you've managed to forge in the past year.

No lies - the first week was fine, after a turbulent few hours after your confrontation with Maura. It felt like a vacation and the job was shiny and new and exciting. It's still exciting but in a different way now. And then the vacation started to feel like prison, like the self-imposed exile it was, at its roots. You thought you'd go mad by the end of the first month, but you didn't. You struggled through it. You took one day at a time, each day a victory.

As time wore on, you thought about Maura less. It was hard, but you worked to dissociate her from everyday objects: medical examiner scrubs, fine red wine, the entire French language. You made progress. You stopped caring about Mr. Adverb and having something green with your food. Even if the erasure wasn't huge, it was something. Any part of Maura's influence that you could eliminate felt like winning. Well, it felt like headway at least.

It almost felt like you could breathe normally again, 15 months in.

But this folder's presence in front of you tells you that the 15 months is all you get, because if Tommy's in the file, you and Dean are going to Boston. You are going to Boston. You're going home.

You're scared of what you'll find, when you go back.

You're scared of what you won't find.

You're scared of what you'll find in the file before you.

Shit, you're just scared.

Dean sits down across from you and you swallow your fear. You flip the file open and your breath hitches. You silently plea for this to be shit intel, but if it's made it this far you know without a doubt that it's been checked twice at least.

"Tommy," you whisper and let it trail off. Because from the look of things, he's in deep shit and not even you can help him.


	5. Snap

_15 Months after Jane Leaves_

It hadn't been easy, not in the slightest. It took months for Rizzolis to resume Sunday dinners; they couldn't stand the thought of gathering incompletely. But with the news, Angela had shooed everybody out of the kitchen on a Saturday and cooked a family dinner. They switched days silently and unanimously – new day for a new family makeup.

You help her more often in the kitchen, now that you're working less, and Angela seems content to have you there. It had been touch and go, the delicate relationship between you and the others, and there were days when you didn't think you'd come out of this still with your newly adopted family.

But you did. After all, it wasn't just you who you were looking out for these days.

It took several days with Tommy to get the two of you to a place of understanding. The two of you called off the wedding that first day of talking, mere days before it was scheduled to occur. It was for the best, you both agreed, that you at least wait. It wasn't a good time.

Instead of getting married, you talked. You knew he knew why Jane left, so everything you said was based on that assumption. Still, the two of you would never be the same. You each had a part in her flight and that wasn't something either of you could overlook. You both loved her and cared about her.

You gave him back the engagement ring. A mutual decision, but he was still a very active part of your life, especially considering…

It took Frost and Korsak longer to come to terms with Jane's departure. Part of it, you're sure, is not knowing why she left in the first place. They were unbelievably hurt, having spent Jane's last day in a usual way, not having known that something was going on. They were detectives, they'd told you on separate occasions. They were detectives and they didn't know what was going on with one of their own.

But they've improved. They've lived with it. But they haven't moved on, no one has. Frankie almost didn't accept his promotion because it was his sister's spot. You had been delivering test results and heard the argument coming from Cavanaugh's office. A distraught Frankie was saying they couldn't give him the job because it was his sister's. Cavanaugh replied that she was gone.

You heard Frankie thud against the wall and unconsciously stepped closer to hear better. Cavanaugh seemed to shuffle over to him from the noise.

"It's okay, Frankie, if you don't want it. But listen, if you don't take it, someone else will. If she comes back and you want to give her her old job back, I won't stop you. But it has to be somebody's in the meantime."

Frankie came out of the office red-eyed and newly minted as a detective. The celebratory party was morose and consisted mainly of the three detectives sipping beer in a corner booth of the Dirty Robber. You had gone because you'd been invited, but you sat sipping your tea and reliving so many other virtually identical visits to the bar with Jane. You fled the scene quickly after that. You haven't gone back since.

When Jane's card came for him a few days later, Frankie showed up to work with busted knuckles, asking if Korsak knew how to repair a hole in drywall.

And as for you? It took a lot of time to come to terms with your own involvement in Jane's egress. Even more to figure out what that meant for you, because she was the reason you had all of this. Without her, you wouldn't have this wonderfully tight-knit family. You wouldn't really be 'living' at all. She came in and she touched you and she shaped you. She made you better, more likeable. She interacted with you not for your money, but because she genuinely liked you.

That had never happened before. You ponder about when that gratitude shifted to indifference. Personally, you don't think it ever did, but it must have. Because the traditions and the rituals you used to do together, you cut her out of. And forgetting about the 'in love' aspect of Jane's relationship with you, you'd been her best friend and you'd basically replaced her for her brother.

You had been inadvertently horrible to the person who arguably mattered the most to you, who made the most impact, who made you the best version of yourself that you could be. And then she just left and you stopped. And it's no excuse, especially when you had such a large hand in her going.

You forgot about her. You're not sure how. It seemed an impossibility and you just don't understand. Did being with Tommy really feel so much like being with Jane?

No, it hadn't, you suddenly realize. But you'd ignored the missing piece because it's what you thought she wanted. Despite any of Jane's earlier actions, telling you and Tommy that it was okay if you wanted to be together seemed a very grand indication of her wants.

If she hadn't left, maybe you'd never have figured out what you'd been doing to her. But she could have told you in other ways. She could have just come out and said it, couldn't she have?

Maybe she couldn't have? Maybe… after giving her consent to you dating her brother, she couldn't go back on that. Not that you deal in what-ifs. You're just trying to understand the real-life influences of psychological consistency. Definitely.

But maybe, maybe Jane lied. You don't lie, you can't and sometimes you forget that other people have the capability. You'd become used to taking Jane at her word, but maybe you shouldn't have. You're still so confused but there's nothing more you should do than to follow her wishes, leave her alone, and do what you can with Tommy.

So no one's really moved on, but you've all adjusted. Angela still lives in the guest house, refusing to leave you alone with only Tommy to care for you. Tommy's moved in with you, even though you aren't marrying him. Jane's shadow would always be there.

But he does deserve to share your home and your time and your space, because it's the space of your child as well. A son. The two of you had a son together. You told Tommy that you were two months pregnant when you made up with him after the first month of Jane's absence. When you told Angela, that's when the Saturday dinners sparked into life. Frankie was happy for you, as was Korsak and Frost, but everyone could feel the loss of Aunt Jane in the unwritten space in the house.

15 months without Jane sees you at the kitchen table with Tommy, late at night. Your son is asleep – for who knows how long. Even though you and Tommy would never marry, you don't really have time outside of each other for a relationship. He works for a painting company, and since he's 'low man on the totem pole' he gets the undesirable shifts – weekends, nights, basically any time the regular guys don't want to do it, he has a chance. He takes all of them.

So sometimes, with both of you being so busy… sometimes you guys have sex.

It's not a big deal or anything, but it's nice, you guess. It adds another layer of deceit to this shadow performance of a family you have. It 'scratches an itch' as it were.

The two of you just finished playing a round of chess. You won although he'd won the two before this one. You can see the devilish glint in his eyes and you know what he'll ask. You decide that you could go for some sexual stimulation and release, so when he says that "I can think of better things we could be doing right now," you're already smiling.

Except you never get the chance to verbalize, because the front door is kicked open. The two of you jump up from your seats, Tommy launching himself in front of you to shield you.

You were not expecting Paddy Doyle to wind up on your doorstep, with a bodyguard waving his gun around your house.

Immediately you're moving in front of Tommy, demanding "why did you come here?" You sound concerned, but you know it's for your son sleeping upstairs and not for him.

Paddy looks at you before directing his words to Tommy. The youngest Rizzoli looks battle-hard as he meets the mobster's gaze. "I need my almost son in law to finish the job."

You grasp the significance, but you can't help hoping you're wrong. "What're you talking about?" You look to Paddy for the answers but it's Tommy who replies.

He has the audacity to look contrite. "I'm sorry, Maura. I never meant for you to find out this way. But, Paddy and I – the less you know the better." Paddy's bodyguard hands Tommy a gun and tosses him a set of keys. He throws on his jacket and looks back at the disappointment surely etched in your eyes. "I'll be back soon," he promises. But you're not sure you want him to come back.

You thought you knew him.


	6. Caught

You blow into town more quietly than you'd left, even with Dean by your side. The two of you have a hotel booked, but after tossing your bags in the back of the FBI issue SUV, you drive straight to BPD. Sources say that's where the target is. Sources say that's where your brother is.

Dean doesn't often let you drive, but with this being home turf, he lets you. Maybe he senses that you need the control, the responsibility to keep you grounded. Besides, with the other feds in the cars following he probably thinks you'll be fine. Still, you barely keep your speed below dangerous levels. Your colleagues following manage to keep up though.

You wonder if you want to outrun them, avoid this responsibility to bring your own brother in. If you were still talking to your Ma… well, she'd never forgive you. Maybe two instances she'll never forgive you for cancel each other out, like two negatives equal a positive? But somehow, you doubt it.

Will you be fine? Are you ready for this?

You don't know. You know that you're not ready to see her, that's for damn sure. Not yet anyway. Let yourself breathe a little longer before diving back into the depths. You tap the wheel anxiously as you navigate Boston traffic like a pro. Cavanaugh should know you're coming, but you're not sure if he's told anyone. You're not sure how it'll work what with you being a fed now. You're not sure if Frost or Korsak or Frankie are in. You hope they aren't almost as much as you hope they are.

You get to BPD in record time from Logan, and if Dean wants to comment on your aggressive driving style, he seems to know better than to do it now. You pull into the garage, auto-pilot guiding you to your old spot when you see them.

When you see her. Your heart drops until it feels like it's in your toes, your fingers get clammy against the wheel. You find it hard to breathe, so you release your seatbelt and slow the vehicle. You wish you could hear what they're discussing, what's so important they had to discuss it now.

Tommy has the Rizzoli charm working full throttle and Maura looks mad. You pull off to the side of the garage, letting the other two cars see what you're seeing. You stop and the three of you form a barricade, the second car in the convoy going ahead to block the other exit.

Tommy whirls around, and then his eyes catch yours through the windshield. You can see him form your name on his lips, see Maura stop in shock, and you all exit your vehicles, guns drawn, your hand slipping out your new badge.

"FBI!" You call loudly, the other agents echoing you. You step around the cover of your door, gun still pointed toward your brother. "Put your hands up and get down on your knees," you instruct, pointedly ignoring Tommy's pleas that this is all a misunderstanding, and Maura's bewildered stare at your slowly approaching form.

You motion for two agents to surround and keep Maura away from the action. She's a bystander for the moment, regardless of the orders to bring her in for questioning dated for tomorrow.

Tommy has followed your instructions and has even quieted. Maybe he can't recognize his sister in your steely cold eyes, intent on the capture of the target alive. Dean pulls him up and presses him against the SUV's hood, tucking away his gun and slapping on the handcuffs. No longer holding your eye contact, Tommy turns to plea with Dean instead.

"Get off me, I didn't do anything!"

Dean is as much a brick wall as you were. He straightens Tommy again and pushes him over to the garage door that leads back to BPD. You watch with your gun in your hands just in case.

The two agents with Maura are now restraining her as she tries to break free, calling "Let him go!" You feel a sharp, pronounced agony in your heart, like a butter knife acting like a chainsaw on the tender muscle.

"Maura, I love you!" Tommy announces loudly. There's that chainsaw again. You meet Dean's eye and answer the question in his gaze with a nod. You holster you gun and move to your brother.

"Thomas Edward Rizzoli, you are under arrest for major theft, drug and gun trafficking, fraud, extortion, assault, and whatever else the DA can find evidence for. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" Your delivery is cool, calm, and collected

Tommy looks at your sorrowfully as he ducks his head. "Yeah, I understand that. I just don't understand why you're doing this."

Your gaze softens for the slightest second as you say "I didn't want to."

He calls out to Maura, "Go home to our son." And white hot lead is pulsating in your gut. Your hand drops just to make sure you haven't been shot because that's exactly what it feels like. You wonder if you imagined that small smirk that played at the ends of Tommy's lips. And then Agent Rizzoli is back and you open the door allowing Dean to escort your brother into BPD. You turn and nod at the agents holding Maura and they let her go. You toss the keys to your SUV at them. "319," you say, the number of your old parking spot. "Or somewhere around there." They nod and follow your unspoken order.

You briefly meet Maura's eyes before you disappear through the door, too. Your day is just beginning and it's already felt like wading through Hell and back. Twice. You wonder again about what they were arguing about, from the looks of it. Then you remember that they have a fucking son and it's not your prerogative to wonder. That's privileged information between a married couple.

So your heart breaks as you walk the familiar path to BPD Homicide.

And because this day can't get any worse, when you follow Dean parading Tommy through the bullpen to interrogation, not only do Korsak's eyes find yours and widen in surprise, but so do Frost's and Frankie's - the last ones tinged with anger.

While BPD CSU processes Tommy, you and Dean need to meet with Cavanaugh. On your walk back through the bullpen you see Frankie gesturing wildly to Frost and Korsak in the break room. You know it's because of you. He waves the other two off and exits into the main area, still shouting, "-shows up and arrests our brother? Hell no, Korsak, I'm out."

He meets your eyes again, the anger mixing with disappointment as he whips his jacket off the back of your-his chair and exits down the stairwell. You compartmentalize. You'd asked Maura once how she did it, and even though it was more of a recollection than a how-to, you figured it out fairly quickly.

You just turn off.


	7. Capsize

_A/N: To the guest who said that Tommaso was "the most retarded name" they've ever heard: I would like to politely remind you that although I can abide criticism of my writing - and allow you to do so unedited without me monitoring which reviews are allowed - you should do so in a less ignorant fashion. To be frank, Tommaso is a classic Italian name, arguably an origin for today's Thomas. So while you may not approve of it, using such inappropriate and offensive language is not the way to make your opinion heard. Please and thank you._

You have no idea what just happened. Well, no, that's inaccurate. You know what just happened, you just can't quite believe that it did. Happen, that is. Because you swear you saw Jane get out of a black SUV and arrest Tommy, except that isn't possible.

Tommy had come by, offered to take you to lunch and explain things. You didn't want food, just answers, but you agreed anyway. He'd been gone for two days, doing whatever it was that Paddy required of him. You didn't want to know. Except you did. It's hard to explain.

You couldn't wait until the restaurant to question him. As soon as you were outside BPD in the garage, you let it out. "What was that about, Tommy?"

He turned to look at you. "Listen, Maura, I know I've got some things to explain about the family business and-"

You glared him into trailing off. "Explain to me why you didn't think of your son before you started to work for Paddy? Why didn't you think of me, of your family?"

But then the SUVs had pulled up and any chance you had at getting answers disappeared.

Then she emerged and you couldn't breathe. You vaguely recall Jane saying something about federal agents, and you remember agents moving you out of the way, but no specifics until you finally manage to breathe again. And then you call for them to let Tommy go, because you deserve answers and if they take him you may never get them.

You watch as she arrests her own brother, reads him his Miranda rights. You can't help but wonder if this is really happening, if she's really here. You've had dreams about her before. None of them quite so… real, though, except real is subjective because Jane left Boston and you were certain she wasn't coming back.

Her colleague escorts Tommy inside. Jane looks back at you once and then follows them into the department.

You're still stuck against a cement pillar, despite your restrainers being gone. Confusion is the best word to describe the state of things, and putting a name to it helps you get back in motion. You find your balance again and turn back to BPD, taking the stairs all the way down to the morgue instead of entering the detectives' floor and chancing another encounter.

When you're in your office again, door closed and blinds drawn, you feel yourself really breathe again. You move to your desk, perch on the edge of your chair, and grip the arms so tightly it feels like your knuckles might burst.

You decide quickly, after a few more gulps of air that reaches to the very depths of your lungs, and you tell Susie you'll be available for emergencies by phone. You snatch your things up, almost run out the door, and 'burn rubber' as Jane would say to get home.

Except you don't go home. Not completely. You go to Angela's. Usually you call or otherwise give the oldest Rizzoli the heads-up of your arrival, but to be quite honest, you forgot. Seeing Jane, well, it's making your brain work overtime on the possibilities.

Angela's not alone when she opens the door to let you in; from the shattered look on Frankie's face you know he's seen her too. Her eyes are red and watery, and Frankie's are dry but wavering, and suddenly you're almost relieved because this is exactly the place you need to be to try to make sense of it all.

You open your mouth to say something, not sure what, but when nothing comes out Angela braves a smile and says, "I know, dear. Come in. Have some tea."

But she doesn't know. Not really. And it's not your secret to tell but you're abruptly hit by the overwhelming desire to tell her the real reason why her daughter left. That the reason is you and you don't deserve to be treated so nicely, offered tea and a warm embrace.

You don't tell her. You're selfish, so very, very selfish at heart that you can't find the sacrifice within yourself to tell her the truth.

Instead you nod, slip off your shoes, and join Frankie at the kitchen island. Angela busies herself with the making of tea and gets Frankie a refill on coffee.

It is only once you're all settled that the Rizzolis seem to resume the conversation you'd interrupted.

"How could she do that, Ma?" Frankie implores suddenly, eyes beseeching his mother for an answer, any answer that can make sense of it all.

Instantaneously you can see how a child-aged Frankie would've behaved, young, naïve, and completely confident that his parents had all the answers. It's sad when you realize the confidence is gone now, replaced with a jadedness that only comes with age.

"I don't know, Frankie," Angela's eyes water again and she draws a tissue from her pocket to dry them. "But Frankie, if the FBI want Tommy, that's bad, right?"

He sighs, hangs his head. "The FBI only deal with federal jurisdiction cases, Ma. That either means he's committed a lot of crimes in a lot of states, or that he's committed a lot of the biggest crimes."

Angela's sobs wrack her whole body and straightaway Frankie is there, embracing her and telling her it's going to be alright. He's grown up a lot in the past year. You wish he hadn't had to, because Jane usually dealt with that stuff in the family.

So the three of you talk, they more than you, about what this means. At six o'clock you walk over to your own house, after giving both of them long hugs, to let your son's babysitter go home and resume your mothering role.

When Tommaso is finally asleep, you crawl into your bed and hope against hope that you'll be allowed to sleep. After a few fitful hours you give up and you take a baby monitor into your office with you, spending the wee hours of the morning working.

Then you take care of your son, and ready yourself for another day at work, wondering if you'll see her again or if it was just a bad dream.

There's a knock at the door and you go to let the sitter in, except it's not Lydia, it's Jane.

Your heart stops.

The look in her eyes, full of sadness and guilt, match perfectly with the words that she exhales, "Maura, we have some questions about Thomas Rizzoli's connection to Paddy Doyle. We'll ask you to come with us." Jane says clearly, and then she swallows and her voice comes out even lower, "Please."

Your heart stutters back into action.


	8. Maybe

Cavanaugh is polite when you and Dean step into his office. He seems to take it alright, that FBI have jurisdiction and you'll be borrowing BPD resources and facilities to accommodate your investigation.

Back when you were on the homicide team, things with the feds were never as easy as he made it seem. Maybe it's different because it's you. You flatter yourself for about half a second and then you rejoin reality and follow Dean and Cavanaugh into the room BPD's allowed you two to use. Cavanaugh leaves you, and Dean gestures you into the chair – it feels awfully similar to when Tommy's case first crossed your desk.

 _"Jane, you know the laws surrounding this sort of case. You can't work it. You're here and you're in the know as a courtesy only."_

 _You stared at Dean, outrage churning in your gut. "No. I can't let you do that. If you're going after Tommy, after Doyle, I need to be part of it. I was BPD my whole career and we've been chasing Paddy since before I was on the force. It's not right, Dean."_

 _He shrugged and held his hands out, palms up. "What do you want me to do, Jane? You're related to the suspect. It's both unethical and against protocol to have you on the case."_

 _"You know that legally there is nothing binding siblings together, Dean," you heard yourself say. "What do I have to do to be on this case?"_

 _Dean glanced up behind you, through the two-way mirror. His eyebrows flicked up and a couple of seconds later, your boss Anna Farrell stepped through the door._

 _"Are you sure, Rizzoli?" she asked, no beating around the bush._

 _"I'm sure. Tell me what I have to do."_

 _You were steel, but not sure why. You'd deserted your family, and they were going to ask you to do it again, in a more legally binding fashion. And you were going to do it._

 _It's not that you felt you owed it to Tommy. He got Maura, nothing could top that, so you owe him nothing. But you still feel a sense of responsibility, a sense of obligation to the rest of your family. Tommy was fucked, from what you saw. But the rest of them didn't have to share his fate. And that's why you needed to be on the case._

 _"Swear in front of a judge to a severance of ties with your brother, and I think I can make that stick for the brass upstairs," Anna decided finally, after a few moments of calculated evaluation of you._

 _"Okay." You agreed easily. You could do that._

 _Farrell left the room, leaving Dean to stare at you. "What, Dean?"_

 _He waited a moment. "Your brother's Paddy Doyle's right hand man. This won't be easy. You need to be sure."_

 _Your eyes flashed, but Dean didn't recoil. "I'm sure."_

 _He nodded. "Then let's go. Judge Palmers is expecting us in ten."_

 _You stared after him in shock._

It had been easier than you'd expected, making that sworn declaration.

"Tommy's gonna be in processing for a while. I'm gonna get a coffee. You want anything?" Dean offers, halfway out the door.

You nod. "Sure. I'm gonna go try and get homicide on our side."

He chuckles. "Good luck, Rizzoli. It was a pretty frosty reception earlier."

You smile embarrassedly. "You have no idea."

"Okay. Fix it. I'll bring you coffee."

He leaves and you take a few precious seconds to compose yourself. Frankie's gone, you're sure, but Frost and Korsak would still be here. You wander out to find them at their desks.

"Hey guys," you start, but neither of them deign to even glance your way. "I know I have a lot of explaining to do-"

Frost snorts and under Korsak's breath you hear "damn straight."

You take a deep breath, quelling the automatic need to defend yourself. "Will you let me try?"

They trade glances, pointed looks that say they want to be angry for longer. But then their shared gaze softens.

"You have five minutes," Korsak says, and the two men rise. You follow them into the break room and the doors close.

You wonder how to start.

"I know that nothing I say can make up for just leaving you guys without a word. I know that. And I know you won't believe when I tell you this, but I had to leave. It was killing me, staying here and dying a little more every day.

"I never told you guys, but I fell for someone. I fell hard. But they didn't want me, they wanted a friend of mine. It was torture watching them be happy."

You sniffle a little and Korsak pulls a tissue from his pocket and hands it to you.

"You left because your crush didn't like you back? Come on, Jane!" Frost roared, pacing his corner of the room. "That is bullshit and you know it."

You look at him and weakly smile. "I know. But Frost, do you remember your girl Anna? How you couldn't bear to see her?"

You watch as he swallows and nods tightly. "It was like that. But a thousand times worse because I had to watch them be happy with someone else. I'd see them everywhere and every time it got a little harder."

You foresee Korsak's interruption and head it off before it escapes his lips. "I know I should've talked to someone. I know that now. But back then, I didn't. I thought I was doing the right thing by staying quiet and letting everyone else be happy. But it was killing me and I couldn't go on like that forever. I needed to get away. The FBI called with a job offer and I couldn't say no.

"But then I didn't know how to tell you guys, I didn't know how to tell my family. I knew you'd all be so angry, so disappointed in me. I couldn't handle it. And seeing the looks on your guys' faces, on Frankie's face – I know I took the coward's way but it was all I could do." You're barely keeping yourself afloat in your confession, struggling silently to breathe.

"I was confused and scared and I ran. Staying gone is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it was easier than the alternative." You stop and wait to see if one of them will speak.

Korsak's eyes flash in sudden enlightenment and your heart clenches. "Maura," he states, rather than questions.

Frost whips his head toward his partner, "What?"

"Maura." You confirm. Korsak nods thoughtfully. Frost darts his glance back and forth between the two of you.

"No way." Frost denies. "Maura?"

You nod. "I'm sorry Frost. Korsak. But I couldn't – I couldn't watch her get married to my brother. Damn it, I wouldn't have been able to watch her have a kid with him. I tried to let you guys know I was thinking about you, that I hadn't forgotten my family's special occasions during the year, but I couldn't bring myself to send a card for that wedding or that anniversary. I just-"

"Jane," Korsak says gently, moving toward you. You look up at him. "They never got married."

You stare at him uncomprehendingly. "Say what?"

He shakes his head, but Frost jumps in. "They never got married. Called it off a month after you left."

It's your turn to shake your head. "But they – the kid?"

"He came eight months after you left. He was already in the womb when you left, Jane. They live together but they're not in love anymore. At least, Maura's not. But they still have a child together and you know Maura, Janie. You know she'd never let her kid grow up without knowing who his parents were, or without letting him spend time with both of them."

A situation of simplicity, of family values where no romance is involved. You breathe a little easier. It's your fault for not knowing. You'd assumed it was on their personal profiles and you didn't know if you could handle seeing it in writing, so you skipped those first few pages. You knew them both anyway. The important things were Tommy's crimes, the intel gathered on him, and the possible involvement of Maura in Paddy's line of work.

"Shit." Frost says, hands on his hips, head aimed at the floor.

"You said it." Korsak agrees, leaning against the coffee counter.

"I'm sorry," you say again, for good measure. It feels like things are better. Maybe not okay, maybe not anytime soon. Yet better.

"Are you working Tommy's case?" Korsak asks suddenly.

You nod.

"How?"

You swallow shakily and shuffle your feet. "I disavowed my relationship to him. It was the only way."

Frost whistles. "How bad is it?"

You offer a half-hearted smile. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Korsak smiles, large and genuine. "Yes, you are. Welcome home, Janie." And he hugs you. When he releasesyou, you give him a whisper of thanks and then you're unsure where to look. A blur of movement draws your eyes to Frost's moving form and he too wraps you in a hug. It's more than you expected. More than you deserve.

"We're glad you're safe, Jane," he admits and Korsak nods. "We're not good yet, though," he adds hastily and you stamp down on the hope blossoming in your chest. "But, I think we can be. If we give it some time."

You eagerly nod, "As much time as you need, guys."

The three of you emerge and Dean is leaning against a filing cabinet in the bullpen, his coffee in hand and yours, presumably, on the desk beside him. He raises his eyes to yours and lifts an eyebrow. You respond with a small shrug. He smirks a little and hands you your coffee as you approach.

"Suspect's in interview room A. Ready when you are," he informs you.

You chug half your cup. "Okay. Let's go."

You turn on your heel, but Korsak's voice stops you.

"We're coming with you."

You trade looks with Dean. It's his turn to give a minute shrug.

"Okay," you say, looking each of them in the eye separately. You want them to know that this isn't how things are done; this is an olive branch. "But you observe only."

The two detectives agree and the four of you march to the interview room holding your brother, entering the observation room.

"Rizzoli, you up to taking point?" Dean asks lightly, his way of giving you an out from an awkward situation. But you do exactly as you know he expects, because he's already sitting down on one of the stools.

"I'm on it," you assure him, and stare at your brother through the glass. You pick up the folder, take one last bit of coffee.

"You got this, Janie," Korsak says and you nod at him. Dean gives you a sidelong glance, and you can see the name "Janie" on his lips. But you put that all behind you and then you walk into the interview with Tommy.

He looks up at you like he was expecting someone else and he blinks a few times. He does little else.

In a move reminiscent of Dean's, you toss the folder on the desk in front of him. "Tommy, you're an idiot." The words raise the colour on his face and draws his eyebrows together. "What've you done?"

But the question is rhetorical because sadly, you know what he's done and none of it is good.


	9. Fault

You sit across from your brother and simply stare at him. You've been waiting him out since he could get himself into trouble. Your Ma always said it was the one thing you could be patient about. This is your wheelhouse. This room is your domain. You're in charge. And as far as he knows, you have all the time in the world.

You can feel the seething rage floating off of him and it threatens to suffocate you. But you just cross your long legs at the ankle, lean back in your chair, and let him know you're just getting comfy. Appearance is everything in the interview room, and you're a natural at adopting the right persona.

Finally, just as you're wishing you'd brought your coffee with you, he breaks. "I didn't do this."

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief and pull the folder toward you. You fight the urge to scoff at his poor defense. "What didn't you do?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't do anything."

You sigh and the exhalation is full of disappointment. "Tommy, please, stop being an idiot and insulting my intelligence. I taught you how to play chess. But I still always beat you. Don't play games with me," you caution.

His eyes meet yours furiously and you can almost hear him trying to stamp down on the feeling.

So you pull out photos from various crime scenes. The FBI has compiled quite a photographic journal of your brother's exploits. You lay them in front of him one by one, calculating the time he lingers on each and how his pupils dilate. You have Maura to thank for that last observation. She's the one who told you, time and again, that people's pupils dilate and the eye lingers on those things which mean something to the person.

His eyes react most to the pictures of the biggest crimes he's committed. You only show him two pictures of his murders, but there are more in the file. You don't need to bring them out to know that his reaction would be the same for those photos as well. Pity and confusion swirl in your mind. You never thought he was capable of this.

You and Dean deal with serial killers and at the bare bones of it all, Tommy has become one. It's not that he's a psychopath, not as far as you know – he'll be tested for that after the two of you are done here. It's that murder goes hand in hand with mob work, and Tommy is absolutely up to his eyeballs in that.

"I didn't do anything." He repeats, but even you can hear the rehearsal in his voice. He knows you don't believe him. It's a small victory.

"Why'd you do it, Tommy?"

You ask and you wait, leaving his crimes between the two of you.

"It's your fault, you know," Tommy mutters angrily. "It all fell apart when you left."

You work hard to control your breathing. Your heart hammers in your chest, your fist clenches underneath the table. Everything you're thinking is full of self-loathing. You snap your gaze to the mirror and shake your head the slightest. And then you continue with your job. You'd told everyone you could handle it, and now you are staying true to your word.

"How is it my fault that you were caught up in this?" You let disbelief and trace of condescension enter your tone, knowing it will only enrage him.

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at you.

"I made her happy, Jane. I kept my promise. And then you left and you fucked everything up!" He roars at you, glaring down his nose at you. "You told her that I knew you loved her and she blamed me!"

So that's where he's going with this. "Thomas Rizzoli," you enunciate clearly, sternly. "I would not call getting to live in that nice house and be around the mother of your child and your child to boot as everything having been fucked up."

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to throw him against the wall, get up in his face, and put the fear of God into him. But this case, this trial, is possibly the biggest one you've ever been a part of, Hoyt included. Everything needs to be by the book. One slip-up could keep the charges from sticking and you would never, ever forgive yourself.

He's huffing at you, "I may be there, but I am not loved. I am a tool, a responsibility, and you screwed me into being that for her. We were happy. I loved her, she loved me. And then you-" he's so wound up he can't finish his sentence. The fact makes you almost happy.

He calms himself enough to speak clearly. "Tua culpa."

 _Your fault_. Except it's not your fault. If they couldn't survive your departure, they weren't meant to last after all. Despite yourself, despite all the shit that's happened, a pinprick of hope ignites itself in the farthest crevice of your heart.

A knock on the glass draws you from your thoughts. You glare at Dean through the glass, or you hope you do. Then you gather up the photos, tuck them back in the file, and get up to leave.

Before you go, you have one thing to ask. "So what was she dragging you over the coals for in the garage?"

You smirk at his icy glower. It freezes in place at his response. "Family business." The implication obvious. He has a ghost of a smirk of his own to match yours.

And you leave a man who is not your brother to wait in the room alone.

Dean meets you at the door, your old partners lingering behind him. "A couple of uniforms will be up soon to take him to a cell and then he'll have his psych eval," he informs you, even though it's just a regurgitation of protocol. You nod, and know he's watching your every move for signs of discomfort or weakness. You show none.

"That's it for today," you say to Frost and Korsak and they nod, unsure of what to do with themselves.

You're turning to go with Dean to the SUV and then back to the hotel when Frost stops you.

"Jane," he calls and you turn automatically. He attempts a smile. "Do you two wanna go for a drink?"

"Hell yes," Dean accepts for both of you. You could use a drink, especially with what you know is slated for first thing tomorrow morning.

"Okay," Frost agrees easily, "Robber in ten? You're buying."

You chuckle. "Sure I am."


	10. Come with Me

You don't sleep through the night. Not entirely. So you rise at about 4, make decent hotel coffee, and buckle down with Maura's file. You go over it cover to cover this time, no skipping what you thought you knew. You don't make the same mistake twice. You'll be prepared for Maura in a way you weren't prepared for Tommy. And when it's time to go back to Tommy and really get into it, you'll come out on top. No matter what he throws at you.

It's intrusive, you know that. But it's also your job and if anyone understands about doing your job, it's Maura. You hope one day she can forgive you. It's also reductive, paring down a person's life to a sheaf of paper in a file folder that'll be filed away alongside other lives in a soon-to-be dusty filing cabinet in the FBI dungeon.

Not that the FBI actually has a dungeon. It's just basement storage, but the stories of what's down there, well, maybe they had a dungeon once upon a time.

A couple hours later, Dean wanders out from his awkward side-room and makes more coffee. You swear his eyes are closed the entire time. After he gulps down a cup he joins you at the table.

"Still getting her early. Pack up, get ready to move out." He says it sleepily and you know it's not really an order, more of slight reprimand for wasting precious sleeping time. He's noticed you're friendlier with lots of sleep and caffeine. Genius, he is.

But you do as he instructs anyway, putting the file away in your briefcase – a new appendage you'd acquired when you joined the Bureau, but which you still haven't come to terms with carrying. It feels too professional, almost, for you. It's difficult to describe.

You take extra time in the shower. It works at relaxing you for all of three minutes after you exit the steam before all the tension and the stress doubles back up in the knots along your back. There was a time when, at the end of a case, you and Maura would go to the spa and get a couples massage despite being only friends. One time, she suggested that the two of you should try an at-home massage, just the two of you.

But you couldn't do it. The thought of her hands roaming all over your naked body, the tornado of want to run your own hands over hers – it was too much. So you begged off, playing into the prudish persona she associates with you. You're not actually a prude, but around her, safe was always better than the temptation. So you took it in stride and did your best to keep your fantasies to the darkest recesses of your mind.

He lets you drive again, and you can't help but feel a little spoiled. It's a mar on the dread you feel as you navigate a two-car FBI convoy to the innocent doctor's house. You know Maura, you know she's not involved. Whatever Tommy may have been into, you know she was left out of the loop. You know. You have to. Because the alternative is too painful to bear.

Dean lets you lead. Any other time, any other city, you would have been floating on air. But it's today and it's Boston, and all you have is a lump of lead, rolling around in your gut.

You stalk up to the door, knock, and wait, steeling yourself from your heels to your forehead. When she opens the door, she has the beginnings of a smile on her face. Her eyes register shock as she meets your eyes, and then the smile drops instantly when her eyes flick to Dean and the SUVs behind you.

"Maura," you breathe out. "We have some questions about Thomas Rizzoli's connection to Paddy Doyle. We'll ask you to come with us." Normally, that's where you leave it. But Maura's face looks ready to shatter and her eyes seem to beseech you, and you can't ignore the flickers of affection in your soul for this woman you love more than anyone else has ever loved anybody.

"Please." You're such an idiot. How could you possibly think that you could get over her?

She stares intently at you and then she nods. "I need a couple of minutes. My sitter isn't here yet."

You ignore Dean's searching look. "Yeah, of course. I'll um, I'll just wait out here for you. When you've gotten things settled, come on out."

Dean's eyes are wide and concerned, skeptical and disapproving all at once. You continue to ignore him.

Maura looks at you. "That's not appropriate protocol."

You blush a little and you know it touches the tips of your cheeks. "It's not."

She searches your gaze. "Appropriate protocol would be to monitor me inside my house, not leave me alone."

You nod.

"Please come inside and do your job then, Agent Rizzoli."

You deserve the coldness, you know that. But you follow her in and watch Dean leave to lean against the car. You follow her inside.

"Dr. Isles-"

"Dr. Isles now is it? But when you're pseudo-arresting me it's Maura? That's twisted, Jane." She whirls on you as soon as the door shuts behind you. You'd be lying if you said you weren't taken-aback.

"I'm sorry-"

"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" Maura's eyes flash with a deep-seated anger and you know that it was a mistake to come inside this house. You haven't left the entrance mat, but the two steps are more than you ever should have taken. Dean should've done it, not you. You're so stupid, so blind when it comes to her.

"That one was for presuming an intimacy I know we no longer share." Two of you can play the stern, aloof, and slighted woman game if you must. "And I know you deserve more than that. If you want it. But groveling and apologizing are not what I'm here for today, Dr. Isles. That's another day, if you'll let me. Today is only about clearing your name from involvement in whatever Tommy's done with your dad."

Honestly, you're surprised she let you speak at all.

She seems a little dazed and a thin sheen of red blossoms across her chest. It's the onset of the stress, her inability to lie, and though it hurts you to think that she wants to lie to you, you know it's deserved. Old habits die hard, though.

"No, no, don't lie to me, Maura, please. Don't faint or whatever. Just tell me," you take a step closer, hand outstretched to comfort, but she slaps it lightly away.

"I'm not as innocent as you might think." The words stop you in your tracks.

"What happened?"

But there's a knock at the door, and Maura steps around you. She briefly introduces you to the babysitter, a seemingly nice girl named Lydia, and then she runs upstairs with her for a moment. When she returns, she's alone and she seems resigned as she puts on her shoes and her jacket. The two of you exit the house and she willingly gets into the back of the SUV Dean's behind the wheel of.

Agents trickle out from where they've been lurking in bushes and the shadows in case she pulled a runner – even though you'd told all of them that Maura wouldn't run. She'd come quietly and cooperate. Protocol is a finicky creature, you just hope she's not insulted by the nonverbal insinuation about her character.

Dean's stare is hard and he purposefully leans across the center console to lock the passenger door. You shrug just enough for him to catch and climb into the back with your old friend.

"I'm not a flight risk, Agent Rizzoli," Maura admonishes as you get into the back with her. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Dean steps in before you can answer. "She's back there with you for ignoring protocol."

Maura raises an eyebrow that Dean catches in the rear-view. "What did she do?"

It's his turn to raise his brow. "Are you wearing handcuffs? Did she tail you all over your house?"

She concedes this with a shrug. "Why?" Finally, they've decided to stop talking about you like you aren't there.

"You're not a flight risk," you answer simply, eyeing her hand resting gently by her side on the backseat hump. Once upon a time, you might've tried to nonchalantly bump into it, maybe even hold it as it rested there, but that time has come and gone. You know the purposeful detachment in her eyes and maybe that's for the best. You're not back, not really. D.C. is home now, and getting reattached to her will only make it difficult to return. More so than it will be already at any rate.

"No offense, Agent Rizzoli, but a lot can change in over a year. It would be more prudent of you to adhere to protocol."

The barb lands perfectly off-centre of your heart, as she must have known it would. But you shrug it off and try not to let the wound fester. "Dr. Maura Isles, my apologies for not introducing you to my partner, Agent Gabriel Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Agent Dean." She nods politely at your partner.

"Likewise, Dr. Isles. I only wish it had been under better circumstances."

The rest of the drive passes in silence, and you wonder if all of you are prepping for the interview next or if it's just you. Maura seems the picture of ease, despite the body blush she exhibited earlier.

Despite your attempts to the contrary, you get more anxious and agitated as you near BPD. When the two of you escort Maura upstairs to the interview rooms, you catch Frost and Korsak jumping up to rush over.

"Could you please just wait in here for a few moments, Dr. Isles? I just need a couple of minutes and then we'll get started." You frame it like a question, but you both know it's not. She nods and gets comfortable as you close the door.

When you turn around your old partners are already opening their mouths to protest, but you stop them short by raising your finger into the air and motioning them towards the observation room where Maura won't be able to hear you.

"What's this about, Jane? You can't just bring in the ME!" Yet it is neither Frost nor Korsak who says it. Frankie has appeared out of nowhere, eyes blazing with anger.

"Frankie, please. I will talk to you later if you want to hear it, but now is not the time."

"Well when the hell is the time, Jane? Because it sure as hell wasn't before you fucking left in the middle of the night like a coward!"

"Easy!" Korsak calls loudly, which is good because you can't find any words to respond to Frankie's outrage.

Frankie looks almost livid with Korsak's interruption, his siding with you, but Frankie must see something in the old man's eyes because he storms off without another word.

"Seriously though, Jane, what's happening here?" Frost asks. You know he's disgruntled with you. After all, it was only last night that you guys had shot the shit together again at the Robber. Like old times. And then you pull this…

"You guys know it had to happen right? Tommy's under investigation, and so are the people he knows to ascertain their involvement."

Korsak replies, "Yeah, okay, but the doc, really?"

You shrug apologetically. "Trust me. I didn't want to do this. I don't think she's involved. But we're bringing in Tommy and we want to get Paddy and so we need to dot all the i's and cross all the t's. No stone left unturned. You guys understand that, right?"

Their issue, of course, is that they do understand. And they don't like it.

"At least let us help you interview her," Korsak demands. You fix him with your FBI glare.

"Or, Jane, we can do the interview, you don't-" It's Frost's turn to be on the receiving end of your federal agent stare.

You sigh and speak gently so that they know you're not trying to bite them. "No offense, but this is a federal investigation. You're lucky to be observing."

It's backhanded, but you're bending the rules by letting them observe. You don't think it registers for them, but you're sure that it will eventually. Until then, you're supposed to be interviewing your best friend. Your ex-best friend. Your ex-possibility. Your ex-maybe. Whatever she is now.

So you step inside the interview room with her file against your chest, close the door gently, and begin.


	11. Work in Progress

"You know you can call me Jane, right, Dr. Isles?" You know you're going to get some tight-lipped professional courtesy response from her lips, but you weren't sure how otherwise to break the ice that turned the interview room into the Antarctic.

"Thank you, Agent Rizzoli, but I prefer to reserve the use of first names for friends."

Yeah. There it is. It stings as you knew it would.

"Dr. Isles, before we get started and off of the official record for this interview, I just want to say that I'm sorry. And I know that's not enough. Like I said, when we're done here, I'd be happy to explain my actions further. We're not going to get anywhere if you're too busy frosting up the glass because of me though, okay?"

She doesn't respond, so you push your luck. "Please. Call me, Jane."

It's the please that does it. "Very well, Jane. It is only appropriate for you to reciprocate in kind."

You sigh in relief very quietly. "Thank you, Maura."

You shuffle some papers on your side of the table. "Okay, so let's get right into it. How long have Tommy and your father been business partners?"

"I didn't even know they knew each other, until…" She fidgets unconsciously before slipping her jacket off. She rests her elbow on the table and that's when you see it.

The sudden change in your demeanour draws her attention and the sentence dies out behind her lips.

"Did-did my brother do that to you?" You ask, trembling with a growing fury. She looks down at her arm almost dazedly and looks surprised when her gaze meets the faint outline of a hand on her forearm.

"Oh, I- yes. Must have been." She meets your eyes again and automatically she's saying, "No, Jane, no, it was an accident. I'll explain later."

The wrath in your appearance must dwindle because she relaxes. You breathe deeply. _Relax_ , you command yourself. After a few more seconds, the red in your vision fades away.

You gather yourself. "Okay. You were saying that you didn't know they knew each other until…?"

She nods then, collecting herself as well. "Yes. A few nights ago, Tommy and I were playing chess and then out of the blue, the front door crashes in. We jumped up and Tommy pulled me behind him – that must have been when the bruising on my forearm occurred. It was Doyle. He showed up at my doorstep with a GSW to his left shoulder."

"And you didn't call the police?" You interject. She almost chides you for interrupting, you can see the hesitation on her tongue.

"No. He - Doyle ordered Tommy to go finish the job and Doyle's bodyguard forced me to treat the wound. I tried to get more information, but neither of them would tell me anything." Your heart drops in your chest because you know what confession will come next.

"So you still didn't tell the cops?" Her eyes glint with the beginnings of anger.

"No, I didn't have any pertinent information. I didn't know where he went afterward or where he came from to wind up at my doorstep and I didn't know enough about Tommy's involvement to involve Korsak. He'd been gone for two days, I was confronting Tommy when you guys swooped in," she gestures to you and to Dean behind the glass.

There it is. _Shit_. "So you did know they were working together before Tommy's arrest?" _Shit, shit, shit, Maura_.

"Yes, but I didn't know what that meant, if it was a one-time thing or not." She looks at you searchingly as you get up.

"You should've called the cops, Maura, as soon as you knew something."

"But I didn't know anything! I didn't have enough evidence-" but she stops when she sees the resignation all over your body language.

"I'm sorry, Maura, but you're going to have to be held while we investigate the extent of your knowledge and involvement with Paddy Doyle."

Dean appears in the doorway then, holding the hideously orange jumpsuit. It pains you to do this. "If you willingly go we can keep the arrest off your record unless I can't prove you innocent." It's a loophole and you pray she doesn't hate you enough to ignore it.

She eyes her new wardrobe and nods, taking the suit from Dean. He leans in to whisper before he leaves and you feel even worse than before. "She has to do it in here." Chang slips in as he exits.

He knew you were going to let her go to the bathroom for a modicum of privacy, but no longer. You turn to the glass. "Turn off the cameras and turn your backs." You glare harshly through the mirror.

"I'm sorry," you say as you turn back to Maura. You stand in front of the door. "I won't look. Please change." You turn to stare intently at the paint flaking off the door.

"I won't look either, Dr. Isles," Susie states, and you spin around just long enough to see her close her eyes and hold the first evidence collection bag aloft.

You return to the paint, and try to close your ears to the sound of Maura's clothes rustling.

"Jane," she says, her voice small. "Can you help me?"

You close your eyes and turn around to face her.

"You need to open your eyes to help me," she states quietly and you feel like an abomination standing here before her, forcing her to go through this.

Your eyes open and you force yourself only to look into her eyes. But it's a strain because there's a movement at her hip and it's not right for your eyes to wander.

"The zipper." She accentuates her point with a tug of frustration on the little bit of metal. Your gaze moves to focus solely on her hand, the little line of black teeth.

"You've always had trouble with this one." The words escape you before you can think them through. Your fingers stop reaching to help mere inches away and you look up at Maura fearfully. Like you've just crossed a line.

She doesn't respond, just proffers her hip toward you and you go about freeing her. She bumps into your side and you gasp a little. You took a bit of a tumble on your last case and the bruising still hasn't healed.

Immediately, despite her state of undress, she's moving her hands to the spot she'd hit. Her hands quickly lift up your shirt to reveal a small patchwork of bruises with a few healing cuts and she gasps a little. You gently remove the hem of your shirt from her hands and tug your shirt back down.

"Please don't." Pain is unabashedly bold in your statement.

"I'm sorry, Jane, I didn't mean to hurt you-"

You shake your head. "Don't, Dr. Isles. Just don't. Please, finish changing." You stalk back to your position on the door.

Finally, your torture is over and her clothes are in evidence. She stands before you with her jumpsuit on. You escort her to a detention cell and make sure it's clear that no one is to go in there with her for professional reasons aside from you and Dean. Personal visits are fine.

Susie will finish processing her while you take a break. It's an awful thought, an awful situation you wish you didn't have to have a part in. You know Dean's waiting for you in the room BPD's given the FBI, but you can't handle a reprimand right now. What you need is coffee, so you head down to the café, mind buzzing as you wait your turn.

When you get to the front you know it was a mistake. Your Ma is there, fire in her eyes, and you shrivel beneath the intensity of her glare.

"Jane Clementine Rizzoli, I-"

"Please Ma, not right now." You beg her. Your eyes plead and you can tell from the twitch of her cheek that she's fighting hard to keep from going to town on your ass – deservedly – but she also knows that tone. It's your in-the-middle-of-serious-shit tone and even she's never messed with that.

She throws you a bone. "You're too skinny. Have you been eating in D.C.?"

Did she just? You look her fully in the eyes. Yeah, she's still mad. But she's putting it aside for the moment. That's good. Maybe she doesn't fully hate you. It's a start.

"Yeah, Ma, I've been eating. Please. I know I need to sit down and talk to you if you want to hear it, but for right now, can I please just get a coffee?"

She looks sternly at you. "Okay, okay." Your mind flits to Maura upstairs. "A coffee, whatever healthy salad you have, whatever unhealthy sandwich you have, and tea for Maura please."

She's surprised but trying very hard not to show it. When she hands you your change, she makes her demands. "You'd better call me. Tonight. I want answers. You can come over for dinner. Bring your associate. Dean? I met him yesterday. He can watch TV or something while we talk."

You're wary about the offer. Yeah, you need to talk to your Ma, but Dean doesn't have to be anywhere near it. You guys don't swap personal sob stories. Inviting him into your mother's place would make him privy to everything. "Okay. I'll see. He might have plans." It's a lie, but she doesn't need to know that.

When you step away from her counter you almost suck down breaths of relief. You wander to the condiment station and fix your coffee before fixing Maura's tea automatically from memory. You notice your Ma glance at you every so often, maybe to see if you're really there – you're not sure. But she fixes you with a stare full of meaning when you pick up your order, so you know she hasn't had a complete personality transplant.

You need ten more seconds with her before you're ready to face Dean. You'll get that much just from dropping off her food. Even though she seems to hate you, or at least dislike you greatly at the moment, she still makes you better. You only hope Susie's finished and is back in the lab, leaving the two of you alone. You nod at the guard on duty.

You round the corner into the cellblock and find Maura's outline alone. Thank God.

You tap on the bars as a way of knocking. "Um, I don't know if you're hungry or whatever, but I got you some stuff." You're awkward. You know she's hungry. It's twenty minutes past her usual lunch hour. At least, if it hasn't changed.

She nods morosely and the door opens. You step inside the small space and set her tea, salad, and plastic cutlery on the small table beside the cot she's sitting on. You take her in, wanting to say more, but you feel unwelcome. You're almost back on the other side of the bars when you hear her.

She's so quiet you almost thought it was your imagination using her voice to say, "Stay, please."

You sit on the bench across from her and wonder what the next half an hour has in store for you.


	12. Rapport

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into a grandiose mess. You don't know why you said what you did to Jane, she didn't deserve that. She's trying to help you, you know that, but it's grade school all over again and you can't help yourself. Push them away, hurt them before they hurt you, and they'll leave you alone. That's what you learned. Kids in primary grow up to be adults in professional capacities and the rules are roughly the same.

But you know she's different. She tried so hard to please everybody, at the expense of herself. It's nothing surprising about her. You've known she was selfless for years. But your ridiculous automatic defense mechanism has messed things up.

You didn't mean to react the way you did. But she showed up and she was different, well, the same, but different anyway, and it just happened.

Susie left a few minutes ago, you'd meant to ask her if she could talk to someone about maybe getting some tea, but you'd forgotten. Under the circumstances, you find it understandable.

But when Jane appears, acting awkward and shy, bearing what smells like your favourite tea and a big serving of salad, you want to make it up to her.

She turns to leave and before thinking about it, before consciously making the decision to say something, you ask her to stay.

You read the hesitation in her shoulder blades, but she turns back and settles uncomfortably on the bench across from the cot. She sets her sandwich aside and focuses on her coffee. You get up from your seated position, take the food she's brought you from the table, and sit beside her.

"I'm sorry."

The two of you say it at the same time, spluttering it out on top of each other. She picks at the sleeve on her coffee cup. You notice yourself imitating the action and force your hand to your thigh to quell the urge.

"I'm sorry. For being horrible before. It's difficult. Having you here, I mean." The word tumble out before you can filter them. Her face drops and what you've just said hits your ears. "No! I mean, not like that. I just, I mean that you just appeared unexpectedly, like you just disappeared when you left, and I wasn't prepared and I didn't know what to do, and I was horrible to you. I was defensive and it's inexcusable and-"

She puts her hand on top of yours on your thigh, murmuring "Shhh," in a soft voice, like velvet, and before you can register your actions, you're pulling her in for a hug and hanging on for dear life.

"I'm sorry, I just, I'm sorry. I needed to say it." Tears are streaming down your face, your mascara and your eyeliner are probably mixed in well with the saline, and you're grabbing at her back.

It feels so cathartic, this cleansing of your emotional soul. The soft pats on your back are shaky and awkward, but they're there nonetheless.

"It's okay, Maura." She says it friendly enough, but still stiff. A little like she's in shock, a little like she's unsure this is real.

"No it's not!" You disagree, shaking your head violently from side to side. "I didn't even know I was hurting you and I'm sorry because I should have known and I didn't and I must be the worst best friend ever because I didn't know you were suffering so much and I was such an _ass_ about it-"

She cuts you off again, "Maura, please, relax. Breathe."

And you do, the oxygen reaching the very depths of your lungs in a way they haven't in longer than you'd care to admit. She pulls away, and like you're attached by ropes around your necks, you follow her. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, are staring at you with such concern and for the nth time you wonder how you replaced her with her brother.

"It's not your fault, that I left. Okay? It's not your fault. I needed to go for me. I'm sorry if I made you feel like it was your fault. It really wasn't, I promise." She says it gently and confidently, but you can't find it in yourself to believe her. After all, you've tried very hard to keep the fact that other people can lie at the forefront of your mind since her departure.

She's lying now. She told you it was her fault, that she couldn't be here because you were here. You and Tommy and the two of you were killing her. You'd assumed she meant figuratively, but she looks so much better now than she did when she left. The bags under her eyes have all but disappeared, the small amount of weight she'd lost has been regained, her figure fuller than you recall.

Maybe you were killing her literally, too.

"Stop," she commands, and your eyes shake off the glazed-over effect. You search her visage for more, but nothing comes.

"Stop not believing me. Stop thinking so hard. I mean it. It. Was. Not. You." She says it so forcefully you move back to an upright position, no longer crowding in on her space from when she'd pulled away earlier.

"How could it not have been?" You question aloud. "You told me before you left that you couldn't be here because of me-"

She's making a habit of interrupting you. "I was hurt. I was angry. I was a lot of negative things, Maur," the nickname falls effortlessly from her lips and you lap up the camaraderie greedily. "And none of that was your fault. I was in a bad place and I didn't find a better way out of it. That's all on me. Not you."

You nod thoughtfully, knowing she'll take it as hesitant agreement with her statements.

She seems satisfied with your response.

"Your tea's probably getting cold," she notes, as she settles back onto the bench and reaches for her lunch. You glance down at the paper cup, having forgotten about it entirely. But the reminder is joined by a rumble of your stomach and you set upon your salad.

"Thank you, for bringing me this," you tell her after a few bites. She shrugs like it wasn't a big deal.

"Do you want half of this?" She offers suddenly, gesturing to the as yet untouched half of her sandwich. She sounds almost embarrassed, but you don't know why.

It looks delicious. "Only if you have some green stuff." The face she makes is so Jane that you almost want to laugh.

"I'm off green stuff," she informs you, handing you your half.

"Not today." You push half of your salad onto the container's lid and you wonder if you've pushed her too far. If she reacts, it's not in a way you can discern. The two of you swap, just like you used to.

Is it a dream?

Maybe. The two of you finish eating in silence, and you at least are almost content. Despite, of course, the fact that you are in a hideously orange jumpsuit in a cell and could be charged with accessory or aiding and abetting. Aside from that, you're content.

She checks her watch when you've taken your last bite of sandwich, her expression lightly pained. "I'm sorry, Maura, but I have to go now."

Your heart sinks in your chest. You just want the old rapport back. Having it for the last little while was like putting on your favourite shoes, opening your favourite book again. It was comfortable.

"I'm sure others will come see you though, and I'll come back when I can," she says it bracingly, like she's trying to make you feel better. You can see through it though, she's just sidestepping making another promise she can't keep. Or maybe she's trying to prove it to herself.

You nod, albeit unenthusiastically. She squeezes your hand before she stands, gathers up the lunch waste, and then she's walking down the short cellblock back to the real world. You slide over to where she was sitting and lose yourself in your thoughts.


	13. Revelations

_A/N: I'm not dead! Just super busy. For Eve2faces._

Lunch with Maura went better than you'd hoped. She'd actually seemed to like having you around. You try to hold onto that feeling as you step into Dean's presence.

"Rizzoli, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Making the best of a bad situation," you retort. "I know we don't talk about personal lives, but there is a very delicate dance I need to do here because of what's happened in the past. I know we have protocol – we're following it. But you and I both know that there are loopholes and hidden trapdoors if you know where to look. So please, have faith in me just like you have for the past year. I'm not going to mess this up."

He stares at you, long, hard, and calculating. "Okay. But I am going to be watching like a hawk and I will intervene if I deem it necessary – do you understand?"

You bristle at being questioned, but you understand the good intentions behind it. You nod. He does, too, then glances down at your hands.

"Hey, where's my coffee?" He asks, eyeing yours. You shrug and shoot him a sheepish grin. You decide that even though you may regret it later, you're going to throw him a bone.

"My Ma's cooking dinner tonight. Said you could come if you wanted," you almost chuckle at how his eyes perk up at the thought of a home-cooked meal. "I know how much you hate Italian food, though," you continue sarcastically, "so if you don't want to come, that's-"

He slaps you lightly on the head. "Shut up, Rizzoli. You're not funny. I'm in." Then he turns back to his boring all-business self. "In other news, we'll be taking another run at Thomas today. He cleared psych quickly and they say he's good for it." He eyes you from his periphery. "You up for it?"

It's not the turn you were expecting to take today – how many difficult conversations can you have in one day? But you grit your teeth and nod. "Yeah. I just need a minute to make a phone call."

He nods and you slip away into the stairwell that no one ever uses. Your fingers dial the number automatically, which is good. You weren't sure you'd remember it otherwise. "Hello? Lydia? Hi, it's Jane Rizzoli – we met this morning at Dr. Isles'? Yes, she wanted me to ask you if you could watch him through the night? You can? Excellent. Okay. I'll be by in the morning to check in on things and square us up. Thanks, Lydia. See you tomorrow. Bye."

You know your mother probably has watched him before and wouldn't mind watching over her grandson again, but giving her one less thing to worry about this evening is probably the least you can do. Besides, you don't know how the evening will turn out.

When you get back to the boardroom, you snatch up your brother's file, and jerk your head in the direction of the interview rooms. "A," Dean says, leisurely rising to his feet and picking up a steaming coffee. You raise your eyebrow to ask where yours is, but he just rolls his eyes in response. This is good, this is normal. It feels right.

You make fleeting eye contact with Korsak as the two of you pass by the bullpen, and Korsak is pulling at Frost without you having to say a word. The three men automatically head for observation while you take a peek through the window in the door to see your brother. He's sitting there, slumped, like he's given up. You wonder what could've happened overnight to change his demeanour so much.

His eyes meet yours as you enter, but there doesn't seem to be any malice or anger in them this time. Maybe it's finally sunk in that you have him on multiple counts red-handed and he has no way out.

"Thomas," you say as you swing down into the seat across from him.

"Janie," he returns.

"I hope you know by now that the FBI wouldn't be here unless we had lots of evidence on you already." You let that stew for a moment. "If you cooperate, there's a better chance you can help yourself. Maybe get visitation rights with your kid and your family." The threat that if he doesn't help, he won't get those things remains unsaid, but the two of you grew up together and he knows what you're really saying.

"Okay," he says, the vestiges of fight in him evaporating. "What do you want to know?"

You exhale in relief that he's not going to make this worse for himself. "Let's start with how you and Paddy Doyle came to be partners."

He finds and holds your gaze unflinchingly. "Are you sure you want to know?" You nod.

"Janie…" he trails off like he's not quite sure he wants you to know. "When I got out of prison, Paddy Doyle came to see me. He said a lot of things about how lucrative a partnership could be. I didn't want anything to do with him. I'd just gotten out of the joint, Ma and you and Frankie were all counting on me not to screw this chance up." He sighs. You don't say anything. You know he'll continue in due course.

"But then he promised me that I'd be taken care of, as well as protection for Ma, Frankie… you." His eyes meet yours, sad but resolute.

"He said all I had to do was make sure that Maura fell in love with me." You gut clenches, but you maintain your stoic presence. "Said he didn't want his daughter in love with 'no dyke cop'." He stares past you now, at his reflection in the one-way glass. "He said that as long as I kept her away from you, not even Hoyt would be able to touch you. I loved her already, Maura, so I figured why not. It was a win-win."

"But Hoyt's gone now." You interject, and he shifts his focus back to your face.

"He wasn't when Doyle proposed his plan. And by the time Hoyt was gone, I was in too deep. But he said that no matter who you pissed off, he'd still be able to protect you." He scoffed a little then. "So I soldiered on for him. I still had to work my way up the ranks – prove myself to the family."

His eyes plead with you, beseechingly with his next words. "I did it for you, sis. I did it for our family. I never meant for you to leave, you gotta believe me."

He leans forward in his chair, his handcuffed hands coming from beneath the table to hold his head as he starts to unravel.

"I never meant for her to break your heart – I never meant for you to break hers. You leaving broke her and in the aftermath, I realized that she'd never loved me." His voice cracks and his hands fall back into his lap. Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. "Not like I love her. Not like she loves you." He shatters completely in front of you, sobbing and coming apart at his very seams. Two officers enter the room and escort him away, as you sit there stunned.

Korsak, Frost, and Dean are at the door, watching you. So you stand up like nothing happened and leave the echoes of Tommy's anguish in the interview room.

You see Frankie in your periphery, arms crossed tightly across his chest, struggling to focus on anything and you _know_ that he saw what just transpired in there. You give Korsak a look and he takes Frost over to your brother, working to console him. Dean pulls you into your makeshift office, pushing you to sit while he leans tiredly against the wall.

"I know we don't do personal life stories, kid," he starts and you immediately raise your hackles because he's not that much senior or older than you. "But it sounds like you're going to need to tell me this one since it keeps coming up." With his words you deflate and nod in agreement, albeit reluctantly.

"You'll get the story tonight. That's why I have to see my Ma. I got a lot of fixing up to do around here." You sink further into your chair.

"Okay." Gabriel says, satisfied, and not for the first time you're thankful that you got him as a partner. "What time are we supposed to be at your folks'?"

"6:30," you answer automatically.

He shakes his wrist to glance at his watch. "What do you say we grab a catnap before you face the firing squad? We got a few hours and no one to grill."

You smile at him in gratitude, the soul-searching and emotional rollercoasters you've been on today have taken their toll. You could go for a power-nap before the next round. "I'm driving."

He tosses you the keys and the two of you take your leave.


	14. Dinner

Sleep is not your friend these days. You'd fallen onto the scratchy hotel sheets, and laid there wide-awake while Dean's snores serenaded you from the other room. Instead, your mind runs through various scenarios for how the evening will play out. Sometimes they end almost happily, with Ma understanding and a miraculous minimum of yelling occurring. Mostly, they end sadly with tears and guilt and those aches that start in the back of your chest and then radiate in intensity to the farthest reaches of your limbs.

Even after all of that, you still have time and your mind takes on a whirlwind tour of every single possible way your attempt at rectification will go with Frankie. When you'd left, he was such a calm, happy, optimistic guy and now every time you see him he just seems angry, hard. Most of those play out with a negative turn. Time ticks by so slowly you feel like you're underwater.

Finally, Dean's alarm goes off and you jump up from the bed in relief. It's just dinner. It's just your Ma. It can't possibly go as badly as you dread it will.

It doesn't. But it doesn't go well either.

The reception is only slightly warmer than frosty, and you know exactly why when you hear the distant, dimly familiar rumble of Frankie's motorcycle. Ma is a subdued shade of warm to Dean, but he doesn't understand that usually your mom is 20 times more loud, demanding, and openly loving.

You slip onto a stool at the island in what you hope was a sly move, because you're trying not to start anything off the bat. Dean slides onto the one next to you and shrugs out of his suit jacket – you're not even sure why he's wearing work clothes. Maybe they're all he brought with him. Who knows?

Ma places a beer in front of you and then Dean after asking what he'd liked. She pours a glass of water for herself and sets the oven timer. Then she leans against the fridge across from you and waits.

Looks like there's 30 minutes to bare your soul and to finish cooking the lasagna. You gulp and pull at the label of the Blue Moon in front of you, but you don't take a sip.

Dean leans over to whisper in your ear, "Boy, you could cut the tension in here with a knife. I can just go over there," he offers, and he waves his hand in the general direction of the TV.

You shake your head and feel your mom's eyes track every movement. "No, you need to know too. It'll be fine. I just don't know how to start."

Those are all the leave Ma needs to start. "You could start with why you left, or why you didn't tell anybody that you were moving. You didn't tell anyone where you were going. You didn't say a damn word to any of us besides cards in the mail. Wouldn't even pick up your damn phone! I have to hear from Tommy-" you straighten up at his name. "-that he heard from Maura that'd you'd up and left town. You've worried me sick. You've driven Frankie to the edge. We were worried Maura would never come out of her house again! And Tommy! He's borderline depressed because you left and now you've gone and arrested him to boot!"

You let the words wash over you, not even bothering to take all of them in. Gabriel's the quietest he's ever been since you've known him and he doesn't speak much on the best of days. He takes a small pull at the bottle like he's not sure what else to do.

The rage emanating off of your Ma is palpable. You know it's not really anger – well, it is but not entirely. You know her. Mostly, she's hurt and she doesn't understand. Maybe that's where you should start.

"Why I left is complicated," you begin, but by her passionate intake of breath you know it was the wrong way to start.

"What is so complicated you couldn't even tell your own mother?!"

Ah, so there's a touch of betrayal mixed in with the hurt and confusion. You are in such deep shit. You take a deep breath.

"You asked me once, if there was anything I ever regretted. It's, oh, four years ago maybe now. Do you remember that?" You do what you do with an overly excited suspect in an interrogation. You take the backdoor.

She seems to soften a little at this recollection. "Yeah. You said you regretted not having a life."

You nod, a little bit morosely. "I know you took it to mean a lack of a boyfriend, kids, and a social life outside of drinks at the Robber." You meet her eyes softly. "I meant for you to understand it that way. But that's not how I meant it." Your breath shakes. "I meant that I had the chance – many chances actually – to try and achieve what I want and I never took them because I was scared."

You studiously avoid looking at Dean, but if you know him, you know he's not looking at you anyway. He's staring off just to the side, acting as if he's aloof from it all, but he's listening to you with every ounce of his attention.

"What does this have to do with you leaving?" Ma asks, and you wonder if that's true concern in her voice or mere impatience at your elusiveness with answers.

"What I was scared of, that's why I left." You pause and pray that she's gotten less religious in the year you've been gone. "Now, I don't want you to freak out or think that anything I've done lately has been out of animosity or jealousy," you preface, carefully monitoring her face. "I was in love, Ma, and I couldn't have who I wanted. And then I had to watch as they were happy with someone else and it killed me."

You pause again to see if she'll catch on to what you're really saying. She doesn't seem to know who it is and you hope you won't have to spell it out for her.

"Janie," your Ma starts but her voice only trails off. You can't tell if the undertone is commiseration, understanding, or a gentle reprimand.

"I know that it doesn't justify my actions. I was desperate and I had to leave. I didn't know how to tell you or Frankie or anyone else so I thought it might be better if I just didn't say anything at all-" you can see your Ma get all fired up again. "Hey, hey, I know it was a bad decision. I'm just trying to explain that I thought it was all I could do at the time. I know better than now, but like you've been telling me for years – hindsight is always twenty-twenty."

She fights a smile at another reference to happier past times, you can see it in the minute twitch at the corner of her mouth.

You finally take a long gulp of beer. "I couldn't watch Maura marry Tommy, Ma. I thought it'd burn me up and kill me."

The room seems impossibly still suddenly. You feel as though you can see every gear slowly screech to a halt in your mother's brain. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Gabe surreptitiously looking at your mother, trying to figure out if she's going to faint or yell or do anything.

"Maura?" Ma finally sputters out, voice barely above a whisper. The horror in her voice is too raw to mask. "You don't like women."

This was the outcome you'd been dreading. "I don't know that I like anyone based on what's in their pants. I know your life plan for me is a husband and kids – it was been very difficult trying to reconcile your vision of my future with what I wanted. As you can see, it didn't turn out very well."

You sit up on your stool and take another sip, relishing in the way the carbonation brings your flesh to life. "I've always just wanted to be happy, and I've never thought that I needed someone for that, or that if I did that they had to be a man. Rolling with it was easier than, well, this," you admit and you kind of want to laugh. You've been avoiding this conversation with your mother for years and now it's out there. You don't feel relieved per se, but it's not as awful as you thought it would be.

Maybe you needed the time away to come to the realization that you don't need your mother's approval anymore. That's not to say you don't care about her or what she thinks. It's just that you've started to learn or maybe grasp that your happiness shouldn't be defined by her desires.

"Ma," you call scrutinising her still form. "Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?"

It takes a few more long moments before your mother manages a reply. "I'll be fine." You tamp down on the urge to call her on the lie.

The oven timer dings. The rest of the evening passes by in a tense silence, punctuated by various remarks from Dean in vain attempts to break the glacial ice that's formed in the kitchen. When the two of you thank your Ma for the meal and say your goodbyes, you're grateful that Dean doesn't let on that he can hear your mother just as well as you can. Sobbing and wailing clouds your mind and your heart skips a beat in disappointment.

The drive back through Boston is a comfortable if exhausted silence. Suddenly you remember an earlier promise, and get Gabriel to return to your hotel on his own.

"Yeah, Gabe, just drop me here. I'll be fine. I'll see you in the morning." The two of you share a look and then you tumble out of the SUV. You dig around for your ID in your pockets, but the guard at the desk knows who you are and just lets you through – no questions asked. You smile in thanks, though you know it must be tired and possibly even strained.

At the elevator, you hit the 'Up' button automatically, but stop yourself before you can hit the number inside the metal box for the bullpen. Instead you tap the floor of the cells and hope Maura isn't too pissed with you.


	15. Concrete

_A/N: Sorry I've been MIA, friends. I've been really busy with a full time job and two part-time jobs that I honestly just haven't had time. I have not abandoned this story. I have never abandoned this story. It may take some time, but we will see this fic out to the end._

 _And now, back to our lovely ladies._

* * *

The guard on duty shares a nod with you as you stride in, all bravado and no energy. When you come to Maura's cell, you see her form on the small bed and breathe a sigh of relief that comes as a surprise. For whatever reason, you'd feared she wouldn't be here. It reminds you of the nightmares you had when you lived here, of Maura getting kidnapped or hurt because of you.

You're trying to scope out the most comfortable bit of concrete near the wall opposite the bars when the bed behind you rustles.

You turn.

"Jane?" she asks tentatively, like she's not sure if you're real or a dream.

You try to smile. "Hey, Maur." Your brain clambers for an excuse to be here this late.

"What are you doing here?" she asks quietly as she sits up and gives one eye a rub.

Your brain has nothing but the truth. "I didn't want you to be alone in here. I can go, if you want-" you're already turning to go, cursing yourself for this stupid idea. As if she'd want you here.

"No, don't go," she asks as she gets off the bed. "It was nice of you to want to keep me company. Please, stay if you like." She's gripping one of the bars in the door loosely when she finishes talking.

You find yourself nodding. "Yeah, okay. I was just gonna stay out here and just, you know, be around. Don't mind me." You tap experimentally at a random spot on the floor. "Aha, the perfect spot of cozy concrete for me." You move to sit down.

"You can come in if you like. I don't know that anything in here is more comfortable than the floor, but it probably can't be worse." Her eyes are so wide, so open and honest with you that you're signalling for the guard to open the door before your brain catches up with your actions.

The bench is narrow, but you slip off your blazer and sit. "Better than any 5-star hotel," you joke, and then you freeze. That was so insensitive. You're a monster. You put her in this cell and now you're making light of it.

When she laughs, it's like you've been reborn. Every muscle in your body relaxes at the sound of those precious peals.

You lie down on the wood and make a show of getting comfy, using your jacket as a blanket. Maura's blankets rustle too, and you concentrate very hard on breathing evenly.

Her bed creaks. "Jane," she murmurs, and you swivel to meet her gaze. She stares at you for thirty of the longest seconds in your life. Just as you're about to ask why, she continues. "You can sleep here, if you like."

Shocked. The only way to describe your state. Your silence sends her the wrong message.

"I mean you don't have to, I just thought that it might be more comfortable than the bench, but I'm sure it's a lovely bench-"

You interrupt her. "Do you want me to sleep there?" You sit up, loosely folding your blazer and placing it beside you.

"Yes." She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't need to. You stroll over and she shuffles over a bit. It's not a huge cot, but you'd be lying if you said the two of you haven't gotten this cozy before.

This will hurt. This memory will drive sawblades through your gut once you're back home, alone, in D.C. But with her body heat radiating outward to touch you, with the comforting rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, you'd take that trade any day. You'll take whatever you're given while you can.

The two of you don't speak. There's two inches at most between your elbow and hers. The urge to shift your fingers to make contact almost bowls you over with how intense the feeling is. You stamp down on it, wrestling the craving back into the dark recesses of your mind.

To distract yourself, to try and ease the guilt on your conscience, you barely whisper the words, "I'm sorry." It gets lost in your exhale, so much that you don't even think you heard it despite saying it.

"It's not your fault, Jane. You're doing your job." She takes your hand in hers and it is everything you've ever wanted. Warmth, safety, and you dare to include trust. Maybe things aren't as broken as you thought they were. Maybe you're in a better place, a place where you can be genuinely happy when Maura next finds herself in love. You place all your chips on the fact that it won't be Tommy this time-not when he's behind bars and she didn't marry him when she had the chance.

She rolls over to face you and even though you know it's flirting with disaster, you follow suit. Her eyes, her skin-they're three inches from your face at best. You get lost in those impossibly deep, beautiful eyes, in the curvature of her nose, the slope of her forehead. You squeeze a little tighter.

"I'm also sorry for leaving." It's her turn to squeeze you. "I know it was awful and I am so, so sorry, Maura. I never meant to hurt you."

She sniffles and glances away. "I never meant to hurt you either."

It's as good as it could be. It's so much better than you'd dared hoped. Despite the dank, cold surroundings of steel bars and concrete walls, despite the weathered wooden furniture and scratchy orange jumpsuit-this moment is better than your wildest dreams.

She holds your gaze for a while, maybe thirty minutes, maybe 5, maybe more-and then she falls asleep. You take in every minute detail of her face. At some point you fall asleep.

When the morning actually comes around and your alarm goes off on your phone, you can feel Maura stirring behind you. You dig it out of your pocket, turn it off, and then your surroundings force you to freeze. Her arm is wrapped around your waist and you'd be extremely surprised to find more than half an inch between your back and her front.

Her hand is a beacon of warmth, resting gently on your stomach. You wonder how it got underneath your shirt, and how you two managed to get into this position without someone falling off the bed.

She pulls her hand from your abdomen quickly, "Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry." But you don't want her to be sorry or for her to take her warmth away from you. You don't want to hear those undertones of regret in her voice.

"It's fine, Maura," you say instead, an attempt to reassure her.

"About how we woke up-" Maura begins, but you shake your head.

"Don't worry about it. We were asleep. It was an accident." You'll say anything to stop her from apologizing for giving you the best night's sleep you've had in years.

She darts her eyes around the cell, gently biting her lip like there's something she wants to say. You nudge her, like you used to do when she wouldn't say something that was on her mind.

"You were having a nightmare."

Dread fills your stomach because there is only ever one nightmare that haunts you.

"You only calmed down when I held you, I just didn't want you to be in so much _pain_."

Your eyes are wide as you get off the bed and turn to look at her. "Did I say anything?"

She averts your intense gaze and you swear, "Shit."

"Language," she admonishes immediately, like it's still a habit. "You kept apologizing. Saying that everything was your fault." She pauses. "You said Hoyt's name."

 _No, no, no. Please, God, no._

"Is that all I said?" You inquire desperately. A blush forms on her neck. "Just tell me."

She sighs and sits up. "You said my name."

You exhale shakily. "How often?"

She shrugs. "A few times." She searches your face, evaluates your tense posture. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head vehemently. "No thank you."

Disappointment clouds her face, but she nods.

"I'll bring you some breakfast." You tell her, pulling on your blazer. Anything to get out of there now that she knows your weakness. Any time you've had that dream, you've woken up screaming. You can only imagine how much of your terror she experienced last night. You find it hard to believe that you don't remember having it.

"Thank you." She says crisply. You cringe internally. You're being an asshole again.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

She snorts a little. "I'd like to know what the dream was about."

You sigh. "Aside from that?"

"Tea and something healthy?" Her tone tells you she's not done trying to get the story out of you.

"Look, Maura, I'm sure you can piece it together from what you heard me say when I was asleep. We don't need to go through it again."

The doctor still looks miffed, bods acquiesces. "You can tell me, though, Jane. Any time."

You beam at her in relief. "Thanks, Maur."

You tap on the bars and the attendant down the corridor lets you out of the cell.


	16. Encounters

You're gone maybe 15 minutes. Thankfully the café is open early to accommodate the rookie patrol officers. You grab Maura her tea, a muffin, and a fruit cup before dutifully dropping it off to her. You're in a rush, now that your to-do list is catching up to you. It is with great sadness that you realize you forgot to buy a coffee.

You need to get to Maura's to pay the babysitter overtime, so you don't linger too long with Maura in holding. Instead, you take the stairs down to the main floor, hoping to catch a cab.

To your great surprise, Dean almost bowls you over in the entrance. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at your sure to be rumpled appearance, but says nothing. He just hands you a bag and a steaming coffee cup.

"Thanks," you tell him, taking the items. He also tosses you the keys.

"You look like you're going somewhere. I need you back upstairs in 45. We need to talk to the ME some more today."

You gulp awkwardly and nod. "Yeah, I'll be there." He nods tersely back and then walks past you to get on with the morning. He's probably going to go back over the files, and note anything in particular you two need to ask the doctor about.

Despite Dean never knowing you when you were BPD, he's parked the SUV in your old spot out front of the precinct. The FBI credentials are displayed in the dash and you smirk at the tow truck driver as you hop in.

"Yeah, yeah, you're lucky this time, Rizzoli," he shouts at you. You wave him off with a shit-eating grin. Finally, he can't tow your car anymore.

Narrowly, you avoid sloshing your coffee over you as you pull into traffic. You ignore the voice in your head that sounds an awful lot like Maura as you change in shifts at red lights.

Only 13 minutes later, you're parking in front of Maura's, digging some cash out of your wallet as you race up the walkway. You knock lightly, in case the kid is still asleep. God, it's still so hard to believe that Maura's got a kid. A wave of guilt ripples through you at how you weren't around to support her for any of it. _Selfish_.

Lydia opens the door, looking surprisingly well rested for watching over a small human who's not even one and a half yet. "Hello, Agent Rizzoli," she greets as she steps aside to let you in.

"Hi, Lydia. Are you all good here?" you nervously thumb through the bills in your pocket.

"Oh yeah, he was a model citizen last night," she jokes. You smile and nod like you're well-versed in the world of children.

You pull the small wad of cash from your jacket. "I'm not sure what Maura pays you, but I hope this is enough to cover your usual rate and then some."

She barely glances at the money. "That's very generous of you, thank you. I like looking after the little guy."

You could almost hug her. "You don't say? Listen, Maura might have to be away for a couple more days. I can get someone in to look after him, but if you want to, you're welcome to."

Lydia practically beams. "I'd be honoured. Is Maura alright?"

You smile easily and lie through your teeth. "Of course she will. She'll be back soon. Big case. Can't discuss it," you shrug apologetically. You hope Maura will be okay, but you have no idea. She patched up a wanted criminal's GSW-if you can't prove it was forced, she might go to jail for aiding and abetting.

"Oh, yes, I understand. I can be around for as long as she needs. Maura's very kind to me, and I'm happy to help out. I can do my other work while he sleeps and stuff, it's no problem."

"Okay, thank you so much, Lydia. Maura will be relieved to know her son's in such good hands." You dig your wallet out again, but this time to remove a business card. "Please, if you need anything or have any questions or anything, don't hesitate to call me."

She smiles. "I will, thank you." She pockets the card.

"Alright, well, I have to get back to work. Thanks so much again. Have a good day." You almost sprint out of there, worried you'll be late to meet Dean.

"You too, Agent." Lydia waves. You return it, then gun the engine to get back to the precinct. You have 20 minutes to get into the chair beside Dean.

It's one minute to the deadline when you drop into the seat across from your partner, sweating a little under all your cotton-polyester blends.

"Okay, Rizzoli, let's take a bit to review the case files, what we know, and go over a plan of attack for our next interview with Dr. Isles." Dean is already shoving a sheaf of paperwork over to you.

"Sure thing," you say, pulling open a folder and taking a couple mouthfuls of coffee.

It takes about an hour, for the two of you to be comfortable with what you know and what you need to know. You offer to get the next round of coffee while Dean escorts Maura from holding, when you see Frankie heading to the elevator.

You cross yourself because you're going to need all the help you can get as you dash into the elevator right before the doors start to close. Frankie looks up, turns instantly from warm to ice cold.

"Frankie, please," you say, blocking the door.

"Get out of my way, Jane," he almost snarls at you. The elevator doors ding closed behind you. The tension is so thick you feel like you're wading through it.

"Frankie, please. I know you hate me. You can hate me forever. Please, will you let me try to explain it to you?" Your stomach fills with dread because you have never seen him this angry or this upset. He's certainly never been this way towards you. You fear he won't give you the chance.

"I don't want to hear it. You could've told me before you left. You could've _fucking_ told me why and told me you were leaving before you were _fucking gone in the middle of the night, Jane!_ "

"I know, Frankie, I know I was a fucking idiot, I know and I'm sorry. But I want to explain if you'll let me. I want to make up for what I did."

The elevator dings and the doors open. It sounds angry, but maybe it's just that everything sounds angry to you right now.

"I don't care," he hurls the words at you, and you flinch, as though they'd made physical contact with your skin. "If I want to talk to you, I'll let you know. Until then, leave me alone." He storms past you, and this time you let him go.

Morosely, you grab coffees from the café, but in the elevator back up, you shake it off. Korsak and Frost seem to think Frankie'll come around. You just have to have a little faith in him, too. You had no idea it would affect him this much. God, you're such a shitty excuse of an older sister.

You meet Dean in observation, and you both sip your coffee for a bit and watch Dr. Isles get comfortable.

"Jane? I know you're back there. I'd like to exonerate myself as quickly as possible. This shade of orange is hideous combined with my skin tone."

You laugh a little and even catch Gabriel's mouth turned up in the semblance of a smirk. You both go in.

The two of you'd decided that even though you'd be asking the questions, Gabriel would sit in instead of listening anonymously from behind the glass. You know it's because he's still a little wary of what being home does to you, but you hope you're proving your worth to him, all over again.

In order to erase any fears of Maura being charged as an accomplice or as aiding and abetting a fugitive, or of harbouring a fugitive, you need to prove that it was not of her own free will that she patched Paddy Doyle up. The only way to do that, would be to have Maura say that she felt endangered, like she had to perform the act in order to survive. The only problem was you know Doyle would never harm her. Well, that's a problem anyway. Another is that she has to say it on her own and be truthful about it. You won't lead her and jeopardize the case.

This could take a while. At least, that's what you assume.

It's not the first time you've been wrong.

"Hey Maura, we have some more questions about your involvement with Tommy and Paddy Doyle. Mind answering them for us?"

Maura smiles tightly and nods.

You smile back in relief. "Okay. Some of these you'll have heard before, but we'd like to go through some things again. When did you first know Tommy and Doyle were somehow linked?"

Maura answers immediately. "The night Doyle showed up at my house. I had no idea beforehand, I never even thought it could be a possibility. I'm, well, I'm not well-versed in the painting business. I assumed that working nights and odd hours was just how it worked."

You nod and shuffle your papers to move on. Dean places his hand on your arm to stop you.

"That's it? We're just going to take her word for it?"

You want to laugh. "Maura's not lying, Dean," you assure him confidently.

He almost rolls his eyes. "Your word isn't good enough. We have no way of knowing-"

"Yes we do." You correct him. "Maura is physically unable to lie successfully. When she tries, the stress it causes on her system forces her skin to flush and a rash forms. In extreme scenarios, she even faints. None of those symptoms have appeared, so she's telling the truth."

The stink-eye Dean gives you is a doozy. You sigh.

"Maura, would you mind telling us a lie?" You turn to her.

She looks into your eyes, and something lingers behind there. It feels like the room is going to get very tense, but when Maura responds, it's only to say that "Jane hates the Red Sox."

Almost instantaneously, the skin around her neck gets flushed. You laugh at the lie she picked, but you're also wondering what other lies she thought about telling you. You can still see traces of them, lingering behind the hazel specks in her eyes. "Well, we all know that is definitely a lie. Could you tell us just one more lie, please?"

Maura nods. "Jane thinks the Yankees are the best team in baseball."

You take a deep breath because just the thought of that being possible rubs something inside of you the wrong way. The fucking Yankees, come on.

The doctor starts to scratch at some small bumps forming on her skin.

You turn to Dean. "Satisfied?"

He's turned grumpy but nods stiffly anyway, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair.

"Okay, sorry about that Maura. Thanks a lot, though."

"Any time, Jane." She coughs a little and forces her palms flat on the table, you assume to keep from scratching. The rash should go away in a few minutes.

"So you didn't know until that night. Why did you decide to bandage up Doyle?"

At this, Maura glances down and slumps a little in her chair. "I know, deep down, that Doyle would never hurt me. I know that. But, he's a mobster, a monster, and to be frank, I'm never 100% sure of that. My son was upstairs, sleeping peacefully. The last thing I wanted was for him to wake up because of yelling or gunshots. I've consulted on cases where victims have been killed for far less than a crying child."

Oh. Maybe it won't be so hard after all to clear Maura's name. "How were you feeling at the time?"

She drops her hands to her lap, and starts playing with her fingertips. "Concerned. Outraged. Protective. Wary." She pauses and looks up at you. "Scared."

You nod and write down a couple notes. "Paddy Doyle is a wanted man. Why didn't you call in his whereabouts?"

"Paddy Doyle is a senior citizen, particularly when compared to how long mob men usually live. He didn't get to be that way for being sloppy. You know I don't like to guess, but it would be hard to believe that Paddy didn't have someone watching me and my house and that he wouldn't dare risk lounging around the neighbourhood for any longer than necessary. He would have been in the wind the moment he left my house, without leaving a breadcrumb for the detectives to find."

She places her hands back on the table, this time folded. The rash seems to have gone away. "If I'd known anything helpful, if I could have given an address to where he went next, if I had any inklings of his future plans, I would've called Korsak or Frost or even Frankie. I thought I could get information out of Tommy, something I could come forward with, but I wasn't able to get anything in the two minutes before you guys showed up in the parkade."

You nod. Her being so forthcoming has cut down on a lot of the questions you'd noted down to ask. "Have you been in league with Paddy Doyle?"

Maura's response is tinged with indignation. "Never."

"Are you working with Paddy Doyle right now?"

"Of course not!"

You wait a minute so Dean can see the lack of response on your friend's skin. When you look at him next, he nods and then gets straight up to leave.

"Okay. Thank you, Maura." You stand up too, only you go around the table to uncuff her. "Please bring Dr. Isles' personal belongings." You can't see them, but you know someone behind the glass has left to make it so. "You're free to go, Maura. However, we do ask that you stay in town for the foreseeable future in case we need to question you again or ask you to testify.

You can practically see the stress and weight fall off her shoulders. "Sorry about this, Maura."

She reaches out to you and squeezes your hand. "You were doing your job. Thank you."

You squeeze back and nod woodenly. An officer brings in the bag of Maura's stuff. "See you around?" you inquire, hopefully.

"Yes."

You whirl around to leave.

"Do you want to come over after work?" Maura's words make you stop dead in your tracks. "You could meet him, you know. Your nephew."

Tears start forming in the corners of your eyes, and you can't be sure if they're happy or melancholic. You don't turn around, because if you did she could see them. "Sounds good, Maura." You fight hard to keep it out of your voice.

"Okay. I'll stop by later and we can iron out the details."

"Sure," and then you all but sprint out of there.

If Maura Isles was the death of you before you left, it is nothing compared to what she is now.


	17. Best

_A/N: Sorry I've been MIA. It's a busy time in my world. To make up for it, instead of posting a short chapter with a cliffhanger, I've delivered a long (by my standards) update. Hope you all enjoy, and let me know if you're still into this. As I've said before, this is endgame Jane/Maura Rizzles, but it is rated as Angst for good reason._

The day passes by quickly after that; you and Dean quietly fill out the paperwork surrounding Maura's involvement with the case. The only pause in the monotony is Maura's visit, about an hour before you and Dean plan to call it a night.

"Hey, Jane," Maura says softly as she knocks on the boardroom door. You beckon for her to wait a second before you get up to join her on the other side of the door. You don't need Dean listening in.

"Hey, Maur." You're not sure where to go from there, so you leave the ball in her court.

"I was thinking you could come over for dinner. I plan on leaving in an hour, if you want a ride?"

Your mind blurs through multiple scenarios. "Sure, Maur, sounds great."

It's like your mouth is working on autopilot, but your heart aches when she positively beams with your answer.

"Great. I'll meet you downstairs in an hour." You nod, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, and then she leaves.

If it's possible, the next hour passes by even more slowly than the rest of the day has. You have no idea what to do, how to act. Is the kid even mobile at, what, 7 months? You are in so much over your head.

Shit, should you be bringing him a birthday gift? There's a corner store down the block, surely they'd have something you can give a kid. "I'll be back in a minute," you tell Dean, getting up to leave almost as soon as you'd sat back down. You need something to distract him from your behaviour. "Want a chocolate bar?"

He gives you a look that reads 'Duh,' and you let out a shaky breath because he's letting you go. You feel like a madman, as you walk briskly down the stairs and out of the building, searching for that little market.

It takes all of two minutes in the store to realize that there is nothing for the kid here. You slump your shoulders in defeat as you turn to go. The guy behind the counter calls after you.

"You need something?"

You look back at him and shrug. "Something for a kid, but it's alright. I'll figure something out."

He chuckles. "Take a left when you leave the store, cross the street, and turn right. I think you'll find what you need."

His answer is cryptic, but you find hope in it nevertheless. "Thanks," you smile slightly, before darting off.

To your surprise and great relief, his instructions lead you to a boutique toy store. You roam the store for a few minutes, feeling peculiarly lost amidst the ghosts of your own childhood. A stuffed monkey, sitting alone atop a shelf near the back catches your eye. It has a calm smile and when you pick it up, it feels incredibly soft against your calloused fingers. It's plump and cuddly, the kind of thing you vaguely remember loving when you were younger. It has a cute little plaid bowtie and something inside your gut seems to settle.

Some of the nerves dissipate once you've held onto this monkey and you hope it can do the same thing for your nephew.

Holy shit you have a nephew.

You buy the monkey quickly and practically book it back to the precinct.

Halfway up the stairs, you curse, and stomp back down to the second floor. You hit the vending machine for a questionable Oh Henry to appease Dean, and do your level best to inconspicuously drop the toy in your open briefcase on the floor.

Part of you swear his eyes flicker infinitesimally at the movement, but the other part just appreciates his silence on the matter. When you toss the Oh Henry onto the papers in front of him, his eyes light up.

"Ahh, thanks, Rizzoli," he greets, already unwrapping the candy bar and leaning back in his chair. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You sit across from him and resume going through the files scattered across the table. You organize the files you'll need to take into the interview you're scheduled to have with Tommy in the morning, before you finish the last couple of forms regarding Maura's statement.

When Dean finishes his candy bar, you're stacking the last Maura-related file into the pile you have going on the floor, and he joins you as you dive into the Tommy files instead.

You lose yourself in the text for a bit, until Dean stretches and you glance at the clock. "Shit!" You curse loudly. You're late.

"Sorry Gabe, I gotta jet. I'll talk to you later."

He just shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, studying the time. "Yeah, yeah. Go." He stands up to pack it in for the night, too, but you're already gone, locking your briefcase as your sprint across the bullpen and nearly fly down the stairs.

You burst into the morgue in a light sweat, panic etched clearly on your features. Maura's just shrugging on her coat in the corner when she hears you explode into the room.

"Where's the emergency, Detective?" She asks, tone playful with just an edge of seriousness.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up with-" but your excuses are cut off even as you're gesturing wildly to explain.

"I get it. It's fine, Jane. I only just finished myself." She picks up her purse and scans the room one last time to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," you reply, breathless from your maniacal rush to get here. You follow her.

When you both slip into the car and Maura turns the ignition, you're not sure what you were expecting. But having Yo-Yo Ma erupt from the sound system was not it.

"I thought Yo-Yo was only for the bath?" You joke, trying to lighten the suddenly incredibly thick air. You're grateful that some things haven't changed, even if you're appreciating the fact that you haven't had to listen to this guy for the past year and a bit.

Maura's hands fidget on the wheel and she almost pointedly looks everywhere but at you. You're saddened, but not surprised when it is her clinical voice that responds to you. "I found, during the time you were away, that I required soothing, calming, and relaxing music whenever possible. It helped me focus on what I needed to do and, after a while, TJ had grown accustomed to it."

Your throat constricts with an apology on your lips and the urge to comfort in every inch of your skin. She clears her throat, ejects the CD, and pulls a different CD from the storage space in her door. You balk at the lack of a jewel case, never before witnessing Maura treating an item with any less than the full amount of consideration it requires.

Led Zeppelin thunders through the speakers this time, and it's your turn to fidget. Maura doesn't look over to you, doesn't acknowledge that this is your favourite CD by your favourite band, and in return you don't ask why it's here. You're certain she never owned this CD while you were living here.

You have hunches. Of course you do. But it hurts to think about Maura escaping to her car to blare the Zep and try to mourn you. You're ninety-nine percent sure that that is the purpose of the disc, and that's not just because there was a matching Yo-Yo Ma relic in your Washington apartment. At least, until you'd smashed it one night after encountering a Maura look-alike in the park a few blocks from your place. It was a hellish week.

Dean didn't question the bandages on your knuckles the next day.

You scramble for something, anything to say during this eerily void of talk commute, but by the time Maura pulls into her driveway, neither of you have said a word.

At the door, Maura sticks the key into the lock, and as she turns it, you blurt out, "I got him a gift."

She halts immediately, hand cocked.

"I hope that's okay," you continue, awkwardly opening up your briefcase to show it to her.

You can't remember the last time Maura's smiled that widely.

"Thank you, Jane. You didn't have to. But I'm sure he'll love it."

And just like that, you're in her home-this time at her invitation-and there's an excited infant (toddler? You haven't a clue) bouncing on the couch, awaiting his mother.

TJ takes to you immediately, and Maura's astonished. He hasn't taken to anyone that quickly, except herself. You feel a bit of pride at that, despite not knowing what you're doing. He hangs onto that baby monkey tightly, bringing it with him any time he moves from sitting to lying down, or anytime his mother moves him to a different place in the room. He hangs onto it religiously as he bounces in his seat strung up in the den's doorway.

Maura tells you about everything you've missed, even the stuff that makes her choke up and fight to keep going. You feel like you owe her. So after dinner, after you've had more wine than you've imbibed in the past 15 months combined, you tell her your nightmare.

"It always starts like I'm just waking up, just regaining consciousness…"

 _Your vision blurs and the first thing you see is Hoyt's face, looming over yours. On instinct, your limbs all jump to get you up, but as much as you pull against the restraints, you're stuck._

 _"_ _Janie! So nice of you to join us!" He laughs, gesturing in pleasure with the scalpel in his hand. "And you brought a guest this time, so considerate!" His eyes flick over to your right and your stomach feels like it eats itself._

 _Maura is lying on a table beside you, strapped down as well, with her head lolling to the side like she's unconscious. Something primal in you rips loose and you tear against your bonds again._

 _"_ _Now, now, Janie, we wouldn't want to wake the good doctor before we've had our fun. If I recall, you escaped my grasp before I could finish my work with you. And you know how much I hate leaving a masterpiece unfinished." He leers down at you, and you can feel the sweat slipping down your temples._

 _"_ _The only question is, Janie, which one of you should have to watch?"_

 _"_ _Take me, take me, leave her alone, please," you try to cry out through your gag, but he only chuckles and moves over to the doctor. He strokes her hair and you fill with rage at the sight._

 _"_ _Don't touch her! Damn you, don't you fucking touch her!"_

 _But it gets lost in the cloth on your tongue._

 _"_ _I agree, Janie," he says, "you should definitely be the one to watch."_

 _It feels like déjà vu, but you don't know why and you don't know how to escape. You're getting nowhere with your restraints and the only one in the room aside from Maura is Hoyt. There are no other variables, nothing for you to try to manipulate._

 _You are, in a word, helpless._

 _Hoyt runs a finger gently across Maura's cheek and you pray with every fiber of spirituality in your body that she won't wake up._

 _Whoever's on the other end is ignoring you, though, because you are forced to watch uselessly as Maura stirs on the table. As she goes to reach up to brush her hair farther from her face, shock flits across her face at her inability. She writhes against the restraints too, just like you did, and she too is unable to escape._

 _Your pulse is racing and it feels like your brain will spontaneously combust at how much you're trying to find a way out of this. Hoyt's learned since last time, though, because there are no objects anywhere near you. No convenient tray of surgical tools, not even a chair or a napkin. There is nothing for you to improvise with. There are only you and Maura and Hoyt in the room, and Hoyt has the only weapon._

 _You've never been so scared to be in a room of white before. So clean, so medically bare, so ready for the splattering of gore you hate to admit can't be avoided._

 _Maura's eyes meet yours across the room. It's maybe six feet between the two of you, but no distance has every felt as unconquerable. Her eyes are still beautiful, still golden hazel and warm, but there is a foggy covering of pure, unadulterated fear._

 _So you vow to do all you can to keep Maura's suffering to a minimum._

 _You thrash and you try to yell, doing all you can to draw Hoyt's attention to you. You can feel your energy sapping away with every stilted kick, every uselessly rendered movement of your arms-every snarl that fights through your mouth._

 _Maura looks at you, pleading with you silently to stop, to let whatever happens happen. You catch the shift in her stare as though she slapped you. She's resigned. She has given up. She knows what's going to come, knows that Hoyt will view you as the male in this relationship, despite its platonic nature, and she knows what will happen to her._

 _It ignites a fury so massive it explodes out of you. But just as quickly as it arrives, it dissipates as your struggle with your restraints once more shows only disappointment._

 _"_ _Yes, Janie, keep fighting. I've always loved how much you feel, how much you desire to save people. It will make what I'm about to do to the doctor that much more pleasurable," there's almost a trill to his voice on that last word. It sickens you, but even you can see that there's nothing you can do._

 _Hoyt unbuttons Maura's blouse slowly, and all you can do is watch, vocalizing angrily, as a tear escapes Maura's eye and into her temple._

 _"_ _She's pretty, Janie, I'll give you that. It's such a shame," he admits, twirling a lock of Maura's hair in his fingers. "You just can't help yourself, can you, Jane?" He laughs and then shakes his head. "You know you can't have her. You know, if it's not me, someone else will take her away. Rockmond, perhaps?" He shrugs._

 _"_ _It doesn't matter who does it, you'll always know that it was all your fault, Janie."_

 _"_ _You saved so many people, but you can't save the one you love." He sneers. "I call it just desserts."_

 _His hands move to Maura's waist and you look away. Like a shot, Hoyt is back, turning your head for you, and strapping you down along your crown. He returns to Maura's side, climbs up onto the table, and straddles Maura's hips._

 _"_ _This one's for you, Janie."_

 _All you can do is watch as he wins._

When you finish telling Maura, the house is deathly silent. Even TJ, who had mewled a little throughout the first part of your recollection, has gone quiet.

You'd focused on the wine glass in your hands while you told her, absorbed in the way the curves meet to the stem and trying to find the smallest bubble in the crystal.

A strangled sob wrenches itself from Maura's chest, and you can feel the pain of it when you look over and see her crumpled on the chair beside you.

"I never understood-" Maura starts, but cuts herself off with another sob. This time she takes a few moments to calm down. You feel like maybe you should have gone over to her, comforted her, placed your arm around her shoulders and been the safe place she could turn to.

You hesitated too long.

She starts anew this time, "Do you remember when you broke up with Casey?"

The sudden shift in the conversation takes you by surprise. Whatever thing you'd expected her to say next, something about Jones was the farthest thing from your mind.

You nod.

"You showed up at my door that night. You were drunk, I could tell by the shine in your eyes and the colour on your cheeks. You told me that you didn't want to be alone." Maura stares stalwartly at the couch cushion beside you.

"I asked you if you wanted to talk about what happened, if you wanted to confide in my why the two of you 'called it quits' I think is the phrasing you used." Maura sighs. "But you just shrugged me off and asked if we could go to bed."

Terror clutches at your lungs. _No, no, no_ you think. That had been a dream. That hadn't actually happened. Please, _God, please_ don't let this have been real.

"I guess you thought I'd fallen asleep. Or maybe you were too drunk to care. There'd always been a gap between us when we slept together like that. Generally, a whole arm's length. But that night, you let yourself come closer. You spooned me and I felt like I couldn't breathe."

She pauses, like she needs a minute before she tells you the rest of the story. You hope she doesn't. Because if this dream wasn't a dream, you know how it ends.

"After a few minutes, one of your hands made its way underneath my shirt. It rested here," she gestures loosely to her lower stomach. "Then you kissed my shoulder through my shirt, and you breathed so deeply, like you'd finally stopped a moment in your life to rest."

She sniffles now and unconsciously swipes gently at her nose with the back of her hand. She takes a sip of her wine. "You told me that you were sorry. That Casey had asked you to marry him. And I've never forgotten what you said after that. It was like the silence of the night freed you."

"You said, 'How could I say yes when I am so in love with you?'"

You massage your palms voraciously, looking anywhere but at the doctor because _she knew_. She knew and she didn't say anything and for whatever reason that makes it easier for you to be angry with her. It's not her fault, but this undeniable, self-righteous anger has found a hold in your ribs.

"I didn't know what to do, if I should pretend to wake up, but then you continued, and you sounded so heartbroken, God, Jane, I just-I froze. You said, 'But even if in some crazy alternate universe, you were in love with me, we could never be together.'

'I'd rather see you happy with someone else than ever hurt you and risk not having you in my life."

Maura puts her wine down on the table beside her. She tugs at her skirt, a self-conscious movement that only appears when she's inconsolable with worry.

"And you ended it by saying-,"

"I love you, Maur," you jump in, saying it with her. She looks surprised, her gaze automatically shifting to you and the two of you lock eyes.

"I thought I dreamt that," you admit, and a gasping sort of laugh escapes you. But it's not funny, no part of this is remotely funny.

She stares solidly into your eyes. "I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't – I didn't understand how you could love someone and not want to be with them."

"I thought about whether or not I wanted to be with you. I had thought about it, of course I had, over our years together. But one or the other of us almost always had a relationship going and I figured that was a sign. I figured that if you wanted me in that way, that nothing stood between Jane Rizzoli and what she wanted.

"I never knew until that night that you wanted me too. Except you didn't want to want me. You wanted me to be happy with someone else. You didn't want to hurt me." She can't seem to find the strength to stop talking, or maybe she's tired, too, like you. "It was so noble, so self-centred, but for the right reasons. I wasn't allowed to have a say and it made me mad, but I thought that maybe I could change your mind."

She looks away to fiddle with the ring on her hand. "I understand now that nothing I did could have made things turn out differently. Now I know what you were afraid of. It was all there in your dream, your nightmare. You weren't afraid of you personally hurting me. You were afraid of my getting hurt because of association, because I was important to you and bad people could use that.

"I understand now that no matter how flirtatious I became for the month after that night, no matter how many hints I dropped, no matter how much physical contact I tried to initiate with you, that nothing would have changed."

You feel like you're supposed to say something-like you should be bursting at the seams to say anything. But you don't. You just feel empty. Because you each made your decisions and at the time, what Maura did, the way that she tried and then gave up, it's what you wanted. You remember that time, when there was more gratuitous touching than usual, where her innuendos got a little louder, and you had felt tortured.

But now it all makes sense.

"I don't know how long I spent wishing you weren't so damned noble, Jane. I thought that Tommy coming into the picture would somehow propel you into my arms. But the longer I went with Tommy, the more I could see of your personality leaking out from his pores. Not the illegal stuff, but the caring protectiveness, the Rizzoli sarcasm paired with the charm. And I thought, this was a Rizzoli I could love who could love me back and who would love me back."

She smooths her skirt again. "I didn't realize you were hurting so much. I thought that it had just been a little crush because you practically pushed us towards each other. When I invited you to come over, you'd tell me you were busy and maybe I should call Tommy instead. It felt like you were over it and so I tried to be over it too."

You remember, forcing those words out of your mouth because a good best friend is supportive and you would do anything to prove that you were just Maura's best friend.

"We dated for a while and then he proposed and you didn't say anything. You helped with the planning and I deduced that there truly was nothing left. So I decided I should be happy with Tommy. And I tried. I tried so hard to replace you with him even though I wasn't conscious of it."

She chuckles mirthlessly. "So you can imagine my utter shock when I go to your apartment on the night you're supposed to leave and you're telling me how in love with me you are and how you can't stay because of me. You can imagine how wide the hole in my soul rips as you walk out, asking me not to follow, but to let you go."

The tears are falling feverishly now, "And I thought I owed it to you, to let you go and stay away. That I had already screwed up your life so much that if all you wanted to do was get over me, you should be allowed that much at least. It took me some time to come to that realization of course. At first I was just shocked, absolutely frozen to think that you were leaving me. And then I realized that accepting it was the least I could do and so, like a fool, I did nothing."

Your eyes are wide and your throat is dry. You feel like you're supposed to absolve her, lift her guilt like the priest at church. But the words won't come, your mouth won't water enough to make a sound.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I'm so sorry. I spent so much time trying to do what was right for you and I should've just talked to you instead."

It's not a reprimand, but you take it that way anyway. Because it's a two-way street. Had you said something, maybe the two of you could have avoided this whole mess.

And it's not that you want her. Of course you do, but your fears remain, and the fear often manages to outweigh the want, particularly when you remember your nightmares.

You can't decide if you should stay, beg her for forgiveness, and apologize for being an ass.

Or if you should do what you do best. _Run_.


End file.
